Turning Tables
by Rhen-chan
Summary: "Promise not to kiss me again and I might forgo the poison." "Certainly." "You promise?" Videl could not quite believe her good luck. "Of course." Gohan's smirk was positively wicked. "The only problem is, I always break my promises." AU/Very dark romance; ON HIATUS
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragon Ball Z (If only…); I am merely playing with the characters.

This is mainly a dark Gohan/Videl fic, but there will also be many moments of Bulma/Vegeta and some other character pairings. Even if you are not a huge fan of that pairing, I still urge you to read their interactions as they both play very large and important roles in the fic. Also, Vegeta is twenty-nine, Bulma is twenty-eight, Gohan is twenty-six and Videl is twenty. :)

* * *

**Chapter One**

Never had the kitchen of Capsule Hall been so silent after all the servants retired to their respective rooms for the evening. Videl sat alone in the darkness, her small, yet strong hands clasped together as she watched the moon glow brightly from the window above the sink. The large armchair dwarfed her small frame; the staff knew better than to remove it from the kitchen. It was provided for Videl by Lady Bulma Brief, after all, who believed that the comfort of her personal chef was of the utmost importance.

Never mind the fact that the chef was a female, a highly unusual circumstance. Never mind that she didn't seem to possess a surname. Never mind that her relationship with her employer was far too friendly than what was conventional, yet she maintained a careful distance from the other servants, save for Kyo, the butler's young grandson. The staff at Capsule Hall understood rank, and Videl was ruler absolute. They referred to her as Miss and kept their opinions of her to themselves. It didn't matter that she was no more than twenty years old, and looked several years younger, with her small frame and large eyes; any other female possessing such large, doe eyes would be called innocent. Yet, none of the staff could call Videl innocent. Not when only the faintest of smiles ever graced her full lips in their presence. Not when her cerulean eyes suggested tragedies that they could only guess at. Not when what little affection in her soul was reserved for the small, beige puppy that slept contently at her feet by the large armchair.

Videl knew what the staff thought of her. They were distrustful, wary and jealous of her, especially the maids. But they simply stayed away from her, and Videl was content with that, if with nothing else in her life.

"Miss Videl?"

She slowly turned her head towards the open door of the large kitchen, where a small boy clad in loose pyjamas stood, one chubby hand clutching the doorknob whilst the other rubbed a sleepy eye.

Videl's eyes softened slightly at the sight. "It's past midnight, Kyo. You should be sleeping."

Kyo yawned, blinking. "I keep waking up. May I have some warm milk, please? I would ask my daddy, but only you add cinnamon and nutmeg."

Something painful stirred in Videl at his words, and a brief memory flitted through her mind.

"_Videl! Videl! I passed my piano exam!" _

_Videl barely had time to turn before a dark blur crashed into her. She looked down, only to meet with large, baby blue eyes that were crinkled happily. Instantly, her expression matched his and she swooped his small body up into her arms._

"_See? I told you that you could do it, Lucifer!" She peppered his cherubic face with kisses. "Let's go inside and I'll bake you some vanilla cookies."_

_The grin on her little brother's face widened, and before she knew it, he was out of her arms and dragging her towards the kitchens. "And warm milk! With cinnamon and nutmeg, just how you always make it for me when I behave!"_

_Videl laughed and nodded, allowing him to pull her along._

"Miss Videl? Are you okay?"

Blinking, Videl looked down into eerily familiar baby blue eyes, only this time, instead of being filled with glee, they were filled with confusion and slight worry. She blinked once more, and Lucifer's small face vanished, only to be replaced with Kyo's. "If you're tired, Miss Videl, I can get myself some water."

"I'm fine, Kyo," she replied. She managed a small smile and the worry vanished from the little boy's blue eyes. "Go get the ingredients while I get the saucepan and grater. Don't make too much noise as Bee is sleeping." She gestured to the sleeping puppy, before standing and walking to the one of the cupboards. "We can finish quicker if we work together."

Kyo beamed, before running off to do as he was told. It was times like this that he didn't mind not being able to sleep. He loved spending time with Miss Videl.

* * *

Kyo's arrival was a welcome distraction, but as soon as the kitchen door closed behind the young boy, Videl was once again left to her own thoughts. She slipped into her maid's cloak, pulling the hood over her dark tresses. Gracefully sitting down on the armchair, she leaned her head back, feeling the iron tension in her muscles, yet helpless to break its grip.

During the past two years she'd been as close to peace as she'd ever hoped to be. Capsule Hall was a haven, the kitchens a safe kingdom where everything was ordered and preordained; sauces never curdled, roasts never burned, people were never tortured and burned and…

Videl shook her head, listening to the stillness around her. If only Fate hadn't taken a hand once more. Surely she deserved her hard-won peace? Yet, for years she had prayed for one thing, and one thing alone. Not happiness, not contentment, not love, not comfort or friendship.

She'd prayed for retribution.

So who was she to complain when Fate had finally answered her prayers?

Capsule Hall boasted fifty-six bedrooms, two ballrooms, seven drawing rooms, five offices, three undergrounds labs, fifteen powder rooms with indoor amenities, and the kitchens. In one of those fifty-six bedrooms lay the male she had vowed to kill.

It would have been simple enough to find where he slept and take a dagger to him. Videl was adept at hacking apart mutton and sides of beef; the muscles in her slender arms attested to that. Surely a living, breathing Saiyan wouldn't be that much harder. A slit throat, and her life's ambition would be complete.

But she refused to gossip with the staff, didn't join them in their hall for cards and speculation on those above stairs. And with Capsule Hall currently deserted of the gentry, all but the unwanted guest, Videl couldn't very well wander the hallways looking for him. There was always the horrible possibility that he might recognise her after all those years.

However, that was unlikely; Videl was doubtless that she was just part of a distant memory, if that. Ruined lives would have little impact on a man like her enemy. She was probably one in a long line of victims.

Videl wondered what Bulma would think when she found out that her debauched guest had been slaughtered and her personal chef was being held accountable. Most troublesome and untidy, Videl thought with cold amusement, shaking her head. Perhaps she should find a neater way to handle the issue. If only she knew how long he was planning to stay. She didn't want to rush into something that was better savoured.

Lady Bulma Brief had left Capsule Hall the day he arrived, prey to those misogynistic conventions that society put such great store by. Even with the protection of her sharp companion, Miss Eighteen, Bulma couldn't reside in a manor like Capsule Hall with an unmarried male, who bore no blood relation to her. Not when he had such a scandalous reputation as Gohan Son possessed. So she'd departed, grumbling as she went, and Videl had been prepared to accompany her. That is, until she heard the man's name.

"Damn that man!" Bulma had fumed, her blue eyes narrowed.

"Why damn that man?" Videl had inquired evenly moments before her illusion of safety shattered. "If you don't want him here, simply tell him he can't come."

"He's already arrived. Besides, an unmarried female like myself doesn't have any right to an opinion in such matters. Capsule Hall may be my residence, but it does, in fact, belong to my father, up until the time I choose to marry. If I marry, my husband will own it. In the meantime I'm lucky I'm allowed to reside here and make use of my father's advanced labs. If the price I have to pay for that luxury is decamping every time some unrelated guest shows up, then I'll pay that price willingly."

"Not willingly," Videl lightly pointed out.

"No, not willingly," Bulma admitted. "If only it were someone other than Gohan Son! Why the blackest of all the black sheep, the one person likely to compromise every healthy female between sixteen and sixty who happens to be within the same county as he is! A decadent, debauched and positively cynical creauture, and he's driving me from my – Are you all right, Videl?" Bulma's incensed tone changed to one of immediate concern.

Videl had sunk abruptly into a chair. "I'm fine," she said faintly. "Tell me about your guest."

"Goodness, most of his reputation is so shocking that I don't know the half of it. He's the last of the Son family, and a nasty bit of good he is. Conceited and unbearably wicked. If only I never met him."

Videl managed to rouse herself to a semblance of polite conversation. "You deem him repulsive?"

"Of course! I admit he is sinfully good-looking, but he's a notorious flirt. It's all very well to say rakes are irresistible," Bulma announced, "but I don't really think they'd be quite comfortable to live with. Certainly Gohan wouldn't. For all his handsome face, there's something quite… unnerving and sinister about his eyes. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I've never seen him," Videl answered quietly, her small hands clenched beneath her white cloak. Bulma would have no reason not to believe her.

"Of course you haven't. And you won't this time. He arrived a few hours ago, thoroughly inebriated, and is sleeping in one of the bedrooms. We'll simply decamp and wait until word comes that he's left for Fire Mountain."

"Why is he going to Fire Mountain?"

"I gather he's been involved in some wretched scandal once again. Krillen's note mentioned a duel, and another male's wife. If the man lives, Gohan can go back to Fire Mountain, without any conflict. If he dies, Gohan's off to Satan City."

"Satan City." Videl's hands shook slightly.

"Gohan's always had a real affinity for Satan City. Don't look like that, Videl. I know you're sensitive, but you needn't look depressed every time someone simply mentions that place." Bulma's eyes hardened, before she continued, "You'll never have to go back, I promise you. Let Gohan go, and maybe he'll come to the bad end he so richly deserves. They're still using Dr Gero's guillotine, aren't they?"

In her mind's eye, Videl could see the flash of the blade; hear the sudden roar of the crowd. She could feel her own faintness, as she fought, always fought, the terror. "As far as I know," she replied, wishing in her heart that Gohan Son's head would end in the same blood stained basket that had held so many others.

"Thankfully I haven't had much experience with drunkards. I have no idea when he'll come to and start demanding things. It'd be best if we left immediately. That irritating manservant of his can tend to him." Bulma rose, dusting her canary yellow skirts, and Videl watched her with emotionless abstraction, suddenly aware that this was the last time she would see her benefactress.

She dressed poorly, ignoring Videl's occasional tasteful suggestions. Her form was voluptuous and her taste ran toward the extreme in ornamentation. Two ribbons were always better than one, three ruffles better than two, bright colours better than the pastels that would suit her rosy complexion. It had been Videl's unspoken goal to pass on her inborn sense of style. For the past two years, however, her efforts had been in vain. And now it would be too late.

"I'm not coming," she said.

Bulma blinked her blue eyes. "Don't be ludicrous. Of course you are. I know you usually refuse to accompany me to house parties, but this is different. We're simply going to take refuge in an inn near the building where my presentation for the Saiyan Army is taking place, while Gohan rearranges his life. A little rustication will do us both good. Besides, you promised to teach me how to cook."

"Not this time," Videl replied. Neither female thought it the slightest bit unusual that the chef would refuse an order from her employer.

"But why, Videl?" Bulma wailed. "I'll be so lonely up there!"

"You'll have Miss Eighteen for company."

"Eighteen's is not exactly the best company. Why would you want to stay here? Gohan will probably spend all his time carousing, and your cooking will be wasted." Bulma's eyes filled with tears.

"You promised me when I agreed to accompany you here that you would accept my terms," Videl said softly. "I told you I couldn't be your friend, your sister, your confidante. If I accepted your offer to reside to Capsule Hall, it would be as your servant or I wouldn't come."

"But Videl…"

"I'm staying here, in the kitchen." Videl rose and took Bulma's soft hands in her smaller ones. "I'm sure I'll be able to come up with something suitable for Gohan Son."

* * *

Things will be a lot clearer in the next chapter.

-Rhen-chan


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

For all her emotions, Lady Bulma was not a stupid woman. Her voice was low when she spoke. "Will you tell me?"

Videl didn't feign ignorance. She owed her that much. "Not in this lifetime," she said quietly.

It had been less than eight hours since Bulma had left. Life at Capsule Hall went on as usual, whether its mistress was in residence or not. The joint rulers of the staff, Hiro the butler and Lunch the housekeeper, kept strict order. They'd negotiated a truce with Videl shortly after she arrived, both of them recognising an unassailable adversary when they met one.

A meal had been served to Gohan Son, one that was sent back untouched. Videl had viewed the tray with no emotion whatsoever, but now, as she sat alone in the vast kitchens of the huge manor, she felt a trace of something as mild as irritation.

It was suddenly very clear. She wasn't going to butcher Gohan Son in his bed, as much as he deserved it. There were far too many complications, not the least of which was the deep, bitter knowledge that she might not have the stomach for it, for the retribution she'd sought for so long.

She could only hope that the Saiyan's appetite improved as he sobered up. Because she had every intention of poisoning him, and then standing over him and watching him die.

She heard the steady footsteps approaching through the east pantry and she sat very still, panic slicing through her.

She didn't recognise those footsteps.

In learning to survive she'd had to cultivate many skills. Long ago, she'd learned that to be safe, she needed to be aware of everything and everyone around her. She knew the sound of all eighty-five members of the indoor and outdoor staff of Capsule Hall, including the members of Bulma's family when they visited occasionally. The male approaching her domain was someone new.

Her puppy, Bee, barked sharply when she jumped from the chair, startled by her sudden panic. The dagger she retrieved from one of Bulma's labs was in her hand, her cloaking shadowing her face, when the male stepped into the room.

Videl's hand felt numb, gripping the handle so tightly. The silhouette in the doorway was taller than she remembered, bulkier. There was no hair. And he possessed three eyes. And then he spoke, and she realized her mistake. A Saiyan wouldn't enter the kitchen. He'd send his servant.

"Dark in here," the man remarked.

Videl put the dagger down very quietly, making sure to hide it behind a large jar of cayenne pepper. She moved toward the cheap tallow candles that were considered sufficient for kitchen use and lit them, one by one, filling the room with a fitful light. She knew the man was watching her, and if she didn't sense outright hostility, she at least feel his reserve. This was the male she was going to have to circumvent, if Gohan Son was to have the fate he so richly deserved.

She turned back, once she'd allowed him to look his fill. "You must be the chef," he said. He was a far cry from the usual valets who'd invaded her kitchen. He was street-tough, someone who looked as if he belonged in a group of warriors, not in a Saiyan's employ.

"Yes," Videl said, not surprised.

"My master's hungry."

"Is he?" Her thoughts returned to the untouched tray. Either he'd sobered up, enough to have acquired an appetite, or drunk enough to be hungry again. It didn't matter. As long as he was ready to eat what she prepared for him, she was chillingly content.

"A collation will suffice. Meats, bean bread, maybe a large treacle tart if you have one. And where does Lady Bulma keep the brandy around here?"

"She doesn't."

"Bullshit," the male said.

"Lady Bulma has a very fine wine cellar, but no brandy, I'm afraid."

"You cook with it, do you not?"

"I do."

"Send it up. Better yet, bring it yourself. My master says he doesn't believe Bulma has a female chef."

Videl was suddenly very cold. He won't remember, she told herself. It had been ten years since he set eyes on her. Ten years ago, when she was a fragile, skinny child and he was a young male out for his own pleasure and nothing else. He wouldn't remember.

"You seemed to misunderstand," she replied coolly. "I'm not a maidservant. We have no less than twelve of them who will be more than happy to deliver your master's tray, Mr… ?"

"Just call me Tien," the man replied. "And I don't believe my master is interested in maids at the moment, though I couldn't say about the future. He's interested in seeing Lady Bulma's female chef, and my duty is to satisfy his whims. Right now that whim is you, Miss. So I'll wait."

Videl opened her mouth to continue the argument, and then shut it abruptly. She would be wasting her breath, and possibly arousing suspicion, if she continued. Instead, she dropped a mocking curtsy. "Yes, sir," she said, and the man flashed a startled look at her.

"You aren't like any servant I've met," he commented.

"That's because I'm not a servant. I'm a chef."

"Chefs are men."

"I'm not."

"I've noticed," the male said with a leer, and Videl felt a trickle of cold panic in the pit of her stomach. If this rough manservant was any example of Gohan Son's progress, then he'd simply gone from bad to worse.

She proceeded to busy herself with preparing a tray of cold meats and sliced bean bread, keeping her hands busy whilst her mind was abstracted. "You aren't much like the valets who come to Capsule Hall."

Tien chuckled. "You can bet I'm not. My master doesn't care about how well he's turned out. He's not one of your fancy boys. He needs someone to stand at his back if need be, someone who knows how to dispense a little rough and ready. Someone who's not afraid of trouble."

"Do he run into trouble very often?" she inquired. There was no way she could slip the dagger into her full skirts, not if he expected her to carry the tray. Which she doubtless that he would.

"You could say so," Tien said with a grin.

"And you get him out of it." She took her massive ring of keys and unlocked the door to the closet where she kept her spirits. She had two bottles in there: one of the finest red wine ever made, the other of a rough cooking brandy. She took the latter and set it on the tray.

"Of course not. He can get himself out of most messes. I just like to make sure there's no backstabbing."

"Sounds like a most productive life for a gentleman," Videl commented lightly. "I suppose you wish me to carry the tray?"

"You suppose right. Come on, Miss. My master's not going to take a bite out of you."

Videl hoisted the large tray in her small, strong hands. "He wouldn't like the taste," she replied.

She followed Tien as he made his way through the candlelit hallways, her soft shoes quiet on the carpeted floors.

"I must say, you sound quite educated to me," Tien said suddenly, stopping in the hallway outside the tiny, fussy ladies' parlor.

Videl felt a chill run down her spine. Only the supreme force of her will kept the heavy tray laden with food from trembling in her hands; only the supreme force of her will kept the panic from showing on her partially hidden face. She glanced at Tien, at his intent gaze, before turning away and muttering what she thought of him, using the most crass obscenities she'd learned in the slums of Satan City.

Tien, who'd been preoccupied with staring at the curve of her breasts, failed to notice. "I'm impressed. People usually cower under my stare." He opened the door, and Videl realised with horror that for some reason Gohan Son had taken up residence in Bulma's parlor.

She had no choice. She couldn't turn and run, not without receiving the attention she was so desperate to avoid. She would simply have to keep her head down, her tongue between her teeth, and hope he'd never remember.

For a moment she thought the parlor was empty. The fire provided the only light, and even with the pale silk-covered walls, the room was plunged in shadows.

"You ought to pay more attention, Tien," a deep voice said. "Then you might be even more impressed. She called you the son of a rutting ape, lacking several necessary pieces of male equipment. I am, of course, reiterating this in the politest way possible."

Videl dropped the tray.

Fortunately, Tien was in the process of taking it from her hands, clearly believing that only he had the right to serve his master, and the tray didn't fall far. She was still in the doorway, not moving, knowing the light from behind her would cast her face into even deeper shadows, and Tien moved around her with a disapproving grunt.

He was lounging on Lady Bulma's teal petit-point chaise. His dusty black boots had already soiled the delicate material, and he clearly had no intention of removing them, despite the debris and dust that cling to them. He had very long legs, but Videl couldn't have forgotten that. He'd been quite tall when he was sixteen, and males didn't grow shorter as they matured. His breeches were also dusty, clinging to his long thighs, and at some point he'd dispensed with his coat. The white shirt was open at his neck and rolled up at the sleeves, showing off his muscles, and his jet-black hair was as unruly as ever.

She took the inventory carefully, avoiding that face, those eyes. But Videl could avoid it no longer. Now that she knew there was no paunch on that muscled torso, she could only hope age and evil had made their mark on his once-handsome face.

Age and evil had left their mark. They'd turned a young man of almost unearthly beauty into a satyr, a fallen angel, a male of such powerful attractions that Videl was shocked. She would have staked her life on the certainty that she would never again find a man attractive. And most certainly not this man, who'd murdered her family and ruined her life.

The features that had been quite soft when he was a young man were now sharply delineated. The high cheekbones, deep-set onyx eyes, and strong blade of a nose were the same, and yet different. His sensual mouth was twisted into a slight smirk, and he hadn't bothered to shave in the past day or so. His black hair was mussed, a far cry from the carefully arranged styles most of Bulma's male relatives cultivated, and his manner was indolent, insolent, and just the slightest bit dangerous. It had been a long time since Videl had been around a dangerous male. She would have preferred it to be even longer.

"Looked your fill, Miss?" he drawled, a faint smirk on that haughty face.

She wouldn't let him see how disturbed she was. "Yes, sir," she answered evenly, not moving from her spot in the shadowed doorway.

"I, however, hadn't had the opportunity to look at Bulma's famous chef. Step closer, girl."

Videl kept her face impassive as chilling panic clamped a hand around her small, hard heart. Willing herself to be brave, she stepped forward, into the murky light, and let him stare. She wouldn't, couldn't meet his gaze. She kept her hands clasped loosely in front of her, her eyes on the fire, as she felt his dark eyes run over her slender body. With luck he wouldn't notice the faint trembling that she couldn't quite control. With luck he wouldn't see the defiance in her shoulders and the murderous hatred in her heart.

"It seems Bulma has been hiding a diamond from the world, wouldn't you agree, Tien?"

"I do, sir," Tien replied, busying himself with the tray of food. "I guess the rumours were true. However, there's a maid called Angela that's quite the more easy piece…"

"I don't think I'm interested." He sounded abstracted. "Still, there's something about the lady. Wouldn't you say so?"

She gritted her teeth just slightly, unable to move, as the males discussed her.

"She's different, that much I'll say for sure, sir. But I have to say, I like them less mouthy."

"On some days, so do I," he said, and Videl could tell by the sound of his voice that he was rising from his lazy perch. Rising, and moving closer. "But there's something about this one… "

He abruptly yanked the hood of her cloak down, revealing her whole face. His large, rough hand gripped her chin, forcing her face around to his. And then he dropped his hand with a chuckle, moving away. "Such anger, Miss," he said softly. "Such hatred. You quite astound me."

Videl wouldn't look at him, wouldn't breath the same air he breathed. If he touched her again, she would take the knife from the tray that she'd carried and plunge it into his heart.

"May I go, sir?" she requested quietly, eyes still downcast.

"Certainly. I have no wish to bed an angry female. At least not tonight."

That surprised her into looking at him, her mouth dropping open slightly in shock. There was a speculative expression in his dark eyes, one that was almost more disturbing than his brief touch had been.

"Sir is mistaken. I am the chef," she said. "Not a whore."

She didn't wait for his reply, or her dismissal. She turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door very quietly behind her. The walk back down to the kitchens was a long one, and she moved steadily, silently, fighting the urge to run as if her life depended on it.

I am not a whore, she'd told the man who'd made her become one. And she knew, before another day passed, that that day would be his last.

* * *

Vegeta will be making his appearance in the next chapter. :)

-Rhen-chan


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Lady Bulma Brief was not happy. She really hadn't wanted to leave Videl at Capsule Hall, but early on in their relationship, she'd learned that there was none more stubborn than the female chef. They'd had their disagreements in the year since they'd met under decidedly bizarre circumstances, and doubtless they'd have more And Lady Bulma Brief, a female who considered herself strong-minded, had lost every single one of those battles.

Just as she'd lost this one. She'd had no option but to withdraw. Not that she was afraid of someone like Gohan Son. Fortunately she wasn't the sort of female to attract a male like Gohan. He wouldn't offer her a carte blanche, a slip on the shoulder, or any myriad of insults offered to an attractive lady of a certain age.

Unfortunately, the world didn't recognise that she was safe from Gohan's advances. Had she stayed under her own roof she would have been branded a fallen woman. Her father, Dr Brief, would have been forced to take a stand, and if she weren't careful, she'd find herself married to someone as eminently unsuitable as Gohan Son.

Not that he didn't have his advantages. He was devilishly, wickedly attractive, even she recognised that. And he paid absolutely no attention to the rules of society, another salient point. She was already so bound by society's stupid rules that she was being run out of her own house because of them. It would be marvellous to snap her fingers at the prosing old gossips.

However, there was a certain lack of harmony in Gohan Son's nature. A distressing abundance of scandal, close calls, and a certain mocking nature made him a most uncomfortable candidate for marriage. Here he was, twenty-six years old, the ideal time for settling down and begetting an heir, and what was he doing? Running away from a duel, for goodness sake! And if he killed the man, which was still not out of the question, then he'd be off to Fire Mountain again, for heaven knew how long.

Not that an absentee husband might not be quite pleasant, Bulma mused. But even a day spent with someone like Gohan would be more than her temperament could handle.

It would be just as well for everyone if Sharpener Pencille did mess up. She'd only met him once, and she hadn't liked him a bit. A slimy piece of goods, he was the sort of male who always stood far too close, whose hands lingered, whose mouth was always wet. And he cheated at cards, or so Krillen said.

It was no wonder that his wife, Erasa, turned to someone a little more prepossessing. It was just unfortunate that Sharpener Pencille had happened to catch Gohan, in flagrante delicto it was rumoured. A duel was unavoidable, but Gohan didn't have to make it a killing affair.

Until Pencille succumbed or recovered, all Gohan could do was bide his time in Capsule Hall, out of reach from the authorities. It wouldn't have been so bad if this were his first duel. In fact, it was his seventeenth, and if his bad luck held, it would be his second fatality. Even his friends couldn't keep him from the consequences of his current misdeeds.

She'd told him so, too. She'd gone into great detail about his lack of manners and judgement, complaining bitterly about being evicted from her pleasant home and labs because of his imprudence.

Gohan had simply opened one dark eye and stared up at her from his lazy perch on her chaise. "You never used to be such a prude, Bulma," he observed.

"Did you have to mortally wound him, Gohan?" Bulma responded with some asperity. "After all, you were in the wrong. Shouldn't you have deloped?"

"And gotten into more trouble? I'm not such a fool."

"As a matter of fact, he did," Tien announced.

Bulma had jumped, startled. She could never get used to the fact that Gohan's valet seemed to consider himself an equal, joining into any conversation that suited him. Not that she didn't try to treat Videl the same way. But Videl kept erecting walls as fast as Bulma tried to tear them down.

"What do you mean?" Bulma demanded harshly.

"He means I deloped," Gohan drawled. "Every now and then I have a noble moment. Sharpener Pencille didn't choose to be amenable and accept the token apology. If I hadn't ducked, we wouldn't be having this fascinating conversation."

"You needn't sound so surprised. I mean, you are supposed to be killing each other when you fight a duel, aren't you?"

"Not necessarily. In Pencille's case, I assumed he'd be satisfied with my apology, or failing that, first blood. Instead, the man tried to murder me."

"Murder you?" Bulma echoed, confused.

"His first shot went wild," Tien explained. "Master bowed and turned his back, assuming honour was satisfied and all that rubbish. And then he shot again."

"At your back?" She was aghast.

"At my back," Gohan said. "Not only that, he had another pistol in his vest, and was reaching for that. And it wasn't any ordinary pistol. It was one of a set that you'd created for the Saiyan Army, with the bullet coated in a special substance that can actually puncture Saiyan flesh and kill them. He'd purchased it off the black market. I had no choice. I was fortunate his bad timing and abysmal lack of skill had saved me twice. I couldn't count on that happening again."

"So you killed him."

"That remains to be seen. Last I heard, he was still clinging to life with remarkable stamina. Don't you know what only the good die young?"

"That accounts for why you're still living," Bulma said wryly. "But what does it say about me?"

"Only that you might not be such a starched –up prude after all." Gohan was eyeing her with new, dangerous interest. "Maybe you should throw caution to the wind and stay here after all. You can't expect to experience life if you don't take a chance or two."

"Don't even think it." Her voice was severe. "You've known me for years; you should have enough sense to realize that we wouldn't suit."

Gohan didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I wasn't suggesting myself or marriage, Bulma. I have no intention of getting leg-shackled, ever. That doesn't mean that I can't have Tien introduce you to a few more… physical pleasures. Perhaps then you wouldn't be so uptight."

"Put a damper on it," she replied, before she narrowed her eyes. "I don't care what Krillen says. You are to leave as soon as possible. In the meantime, keep away from my servants. Don't even think of harassing Hiro, my butler; he's far too old to keep up with your mischief. Don't chase any of my maids; I'll make sure they're hard to find. And don't you dare even think about approaching my chef!" The last sentence was said with such ferocity, yet Bulma's eyes widened as she realised the mistake she had made when she saw Gohan's head immediately snap towards her.

"Ah, your notorious female chef?" He suddenly looked a lot more sober than before. "I was informed that she would be accompanying you."

"She's feeling under the weather." Bulma tensed as she realised Gohan's attention was still focused on her. "Now you stay away from her, Gohan or so help me…"

Gohan rolled his eyes at Bulma's pathetic attempt of a threat. "The only chefs I've come across have been rather mountainous humans serving as walking advertisements for their skills. I highly doubt I'll be developing a taste for obese females at this point in my life."

"She is far from -," Bulma abruptly closed her mouth, having had the sense to stop. She'd rather have Gohan believe Videl was obese than have him trouble her. "Make sure you don't change your twisted mind," she chose to say instead.

Yet Gohan was far sharper than she had hoped. "I take it your chef is not obese?" His voice was deep and wicked.

Bulma glared at him, almost snarling. "Leave her alone, Son Gohan. For once in your goddamned life, just do the decent thing."

Immediately, a dark glint entered the demi-Saiyan's eyes, forcing Bulma to school her expression into one of indifference, despite the shock she felt. "I never do the decent thing, Bulma."

"Gohan…"

"Shall I recount a few of my actions? Perhaps then you may be able to absolve me." A condescending smirk twisted his full lips. "Shall I tell you about the maid who drowned herself after I slept with her, yet refused to wed her? My mother, who wasted away after my younger brother died, knowing that in me she had nothing left to live for? About the Satan family, who were burned to death because I simply refused to aid them? I could indulge you with the details about the young Saiyan I killed during a duel. After he lost his family's fortune to me at a gaming table, he made the grave mistake of accusing me of cheating. He was innocent, barely came up to my elbow, yet I took his life whilst too inebriated to notice. Shall I continue?"

"Please don't," Bulma whispered faintly, her face pale.

The dark expression left Gohan's face, and he suddenly look years younger, and devastatingly attractive. "And don't think that you can save me from my demons," he said rather casually. "Many females have attempted to, and it always ends with them either running, or dying. Leave, Bulma. Tell your chef to lock herself in her kitchen and your maids to hide in their rooms. No one is safe while I'm here."

"Come now, Gohan, don't be absurd." Bulma's voice was quiet.

He looked at her then, and she realised the bleakness hadn't left after all. It had simply settled in his unfathomable, dark eyes. Now no one would ever call Bulma Brief cowardly. But, right now, just looking at into Gohan's eyes made her want to run. "Don't you be absurd, Bulma. I suggest you leave."

And Bulma did just that. She left the room quickly, and making sure that Gohan wouldn't be able to see her, although she knew he would hear, she broke into a run. Run, without even bothering to pass along Gohan's warnings. In Videl's case, they would have fallen on deaf ears. Videl never listened to warnings, never seemed to listen to a word Bulma said. It was a wonder they were friends. Videl also, however, kept her distance from males, and from the world outside the kitchen. She allowed her mistress to be her close companion, but only on her terms.

When visitors were around, Videl remained in the kitchen. When Bulma was alone in the manor with only Eighteen for companionship, Videl would join her.

If only Bulma didn't have this miserable sense of foreboding that leaving Videl at Capsule Hall had been tantamount to sealing her doom. It was ludicrous, of course. Of all the females Bulma had known in her life, no one was more able to take care of herself than Videl. She possessed secrets, Bulma knew. Terrible, dark secrets, that put shadows in her eyes and the little catch in her laughter. Those were the secrets she wouldn't share, not with anyone, even a friend who wanted to lighten the burden.

But those secrets would also protect her against the Gohan Sons of the world, and worse. Videl had looked into the face of hell at one point in her life, and she hadn't flinched. She'd make mincemeat of anyone who tried to harm her.

Besides, there was something to be said about an enforced stay at an inn. She truly liked giving presentations about her weapons to the Saiyan Army and, best of all, Vegeta, the Saiyan Prince, was due for an unexpected visit.

She adored Vegeta; there was no other word for it. Thank goodness he was too indolent to notice. Or if he had, too busy to make fun of her. She'd trailed around after him when she'd been an awestruck girl of thirteen, and he'd come to watch a presentation by her father. She'd talked his ear off two years later, when she was going through a weapons-mad period; Vegeta was an acknowledged expert on all kinds of weapons. And she suffered through the agonizing, embarrassing pain of puppy love when she was seventeen and he danced with her at her first ball.

For two years afterward, their friendship (yes, Bulma believed that she could call them friends at that point) had been strained. Not because of him; Vegeta's dangerous personality charmed even the most recalcitrant of females, and woo them out of their sulks.

No, it was because back then, Bulma simply couldn't be around him without blushing and stammering, and those impediments were so embarrassing that she decided to keep away. She had watched him from the door when he came to watch a few presentations, she peered at him from across crowded ballrooms, she had scurried out of his way whenever she could. But at night, when she was alone in her bedroom, she dreamed such wonderful, impossible dreams. Dreams that made her blush even deeper whenever he was around, dreams that made her stammer even more. Positively licentious dreams where he loved her with a manly passion and not a trace of his indolent ease.

She'd grown out of it, of course, as all adolescents, even the shyest ones, do. He'd helped, though she never knew whether he'd guessed her dark secret or not. But Vegeta continued to treat her the same, helping her through the trauma. The day his engagement to the beautiful Terumi was announced, Bulma considered slashing her wrists. The next day she told herself she was well on her way to being cured.

Still, the friendship remained. There were things she could tell him that she could tell no one else, not even her mother. Although Vegeta never continued much of their conversations, his occasional grunt proved that he was listening. Bulma never had to worry about the stilted rules of society, or flirtation, or male and female silliness. Vegeta would never, ever want someone like her. Not when every single husband-hunting female of beauty and fortune had flung herself at him for the last ten years. She could be at ease with him now, without worrying what people would think. She was simply a friend, and she refused to consider anything else.

It was still a wonder to her that Terumi had ended their engagement. How anyone could reject Vegeta was beyond Bulma's comprehension, both then and now. But Vegeta had merely smirked, and said they didn't suit.

"But why?" she'd been bold enough to push him, with the arrogance of her then nineteen years and her recent recovery from her passion for him. Fortunately no one had been around to chastise her for her boldness.

"She told me I simply didn't love her enough. That if I had to choose between my weapons and her, I'd choose the weapons. Since she was right, I couldn't put up much of an argument. Too much of a shrinking violet, anyway. I suppose I'll simply have to wait for you to grow up and marry me."

Bulma had laughed, ignoring the very faintest remnant of a twinge. "I'm already old enough to get married, Vegeta. And I'm certainly not going to marry you."

"Why not?" he demanded lazily, a mocking glint in his dark eyes.

"Because," she answered, "if I had to choose between my weapons and you, I'd pick the weapons."

That was the first time she'd heard Vegeta shout with laughter, and she'd had no compunctions about her flat-out lie. But she hadn't lied about one thing. Vegeta would be the last male she'd marry. Simply because he never ask her. One never got one's hopes and dreams handed to one on a silver platter.

She'd arrived at the inn still feeling uneasy, but the word that Vegeta had decided to make a last-minute visit went a long way toward banishing her concerns. She hadn't seen him in over two years, and she'd missed him. She always missed him, terribly, but she judged it wise to ration her time with him. If she indulged too much, she might develop a fatal taste for him, the way certain males develop an attraction for rum or gaming. Once accustomed to his presence, she might be far too unwilling to give it up. So she only allowed herself small doses, just enough to keep her spirits up.

She needed her spirits lifted today. No matter how often she told herself that things would be fine at Capsule Hall, that Videl could take care of herself, she still had this dreadful sense of foreboding. Something quite devastating was going to happen. And her comfortable, peaceful life was never going to be the same again.

* * *

"So much to do," Lunch clucked, heaving her massive bulk onto one of the small kitchen stools. Perhaps in another place and time, Videl would have watching in amusement, wondering whether the stool would withstand the assault. But not today.

"Indeed," Hiro, the elderly butler, replied. "I don't know about such goings-on in a gentleman's house."

Videl managed to bestir herself. "Lady's house," she corrected softly, because it was expected of her. "This is Lady Bulma's house."

The two other senior servants had invaded her kitchen, sending the junior staff about their business. It was late the next day, the staff had finished cleaning up after dinner, and Videl had the odd notion that the three of them were conspirators. They weren't, of course. She had acted alone. As always.

"Even worse," Lunch said, with a disapproving sniff. "For that wicked man to die in his bed here is somehow… indecent, that's what it is."

Videl held herself very still, the familiar coldness washing over her. "He's dead, then?"

"No. The doctor expects him to pull through, which is a mixed blessing as far as I'm concerned. Gohan Son's never been anything but a trial and disaster as far as his family and friends are concerned. Even someone such as Lady Bulma is affected." Hiro could look very dour, and he did so now. "It would do everyone a service if he were to quit this earth, but I'd rather he didn't do it in Lady Bulma's manor. Think of the neighbours."

"Such a mess, too," Lunch said with a sigh. "Casting up his accounts all over the place. A severe stomach infection, the doctor said. Seems like an unpleasant way to die."

"I imagine it is," Videl commented. "Is he passed all danger?"

"The doctor believes so," Hiro said gloomily. "But he warned it may reoccur."

For a moment, Videl could picture Gohan Son's face in front of her. The dark, bleak eyes; the sensual mouth; the dissolute beauty of him. It called to her, for one brief, mad moment.

"I rather think it will," she said coolly.

* * *

"This wasn't a mere stomach infection," Tien commented, a sharp frown tugging at his brows.

Gohan managed to raise his head. He had about as much strength as a newborn puppy, and God knew he didn't want to do anything to jar the temporary peace of his innards. If bile decided to rise up his throat once more, he might reach for Pencille's pistol that had likely seen the end of its master, and follow him into the great beyond. Or perhaps precede him.

According to that fool of a doctor, he almost had. It had been two days since he'd taken sick, two days of the most wretched purging his body had ever endured. For not the first time in his life he'd wanted to die, anything to stop the feeling of having multiple Kamehameha's exploding in his stomach. In the shaky aftermath, such cowardice astonished him. He'd survived more than his fair share of beatings, and he'd always snapped his fingers at pain.

But the pain he'd endured during the last forty-eight hours was like nothing he'd ever imagined. And that damned doctor had warned him that it may return, that it may…

Tien's muttered words finally penetrated. "What did you say, Tien?"

"I said it wasn't a mere stomach infection. I've seen those before. A relative of mine passed away because of it. It doesn't work this way, not that sudden. And not with a young and healthy male like yourself."

Gohan managed to pull himself up in bed, cursing the trembling weakness in his limbs. "What are you implying?" he asked, his voice a flat demand.

"Poison, Gohan. I think you've been poisoned."

"Don't be absurd! Who would poison me? If Pencille dies, I imagine Erasa will be nothing but grateful to me. No one else bears him any affection, and he has no family."

"I beg your pardon, Master, but he's not your only enemy. You haven't lived a blameless life."

Gohan managed a ghost of a smile. "Truer words were never spoken, Tien. Not many people would mourn my passing. But there's a question of opportunity. I don't think Bulma would have sprinkled poison in the brandy before she departed."

"No more brandy for you," Tien announced decisively.

"Don't be absurd."

"And I'm going to fix your meals myself. I never did trust that chef."

"Now you've definitely gone mad. Next thing I know you'll be telling me that decrepit Hiro is avenging his spoiled daughter."

"Did you despoil his daughter?" Tien asked, momentarily distracted.

"I have no idea if he even has a daughter. If he does, and she's attractive, and I was around, then I imagine I did just that."

"Those are a lot of ifs. No, my money is on the female chef."

Gohan considered this. "I admit she didn't like me much. I hardly think that constitutes a motive for murder."

"I don't know what he motive was," Tien explained. "All I know is that she had a better opportunity that anyone else. She's the one who cooked your meal, isn't she? And I definitely don't believe it's something as simple as merely not liking you. I saw her face. She despises you."

"Absurd," Gohan repeated, closing his eyes, yet he considered the notion nonetheless. A faint feeling of anger started brewing deep inside him, but he simply pushed it aside. If he allowed it to grow, who knew what he would do.

"Perhaps. But I'm keeping a close eye on her. And she will not put her hands on anything you eat. No one will but me."

"You sure you're not poisoning me, Tien?" Gohan murmured, exhausted from the struggle his body had been through. Even a day of non-stop training had never left him this fatigued.

"Of course not. I'd stab with those new daggers that Bulma recently created if I'd a mind to," his manservant quipped. "Poison is a female's game."

"Perhaps," Gohan said wearily. "But I suggest for once in your life that you try to be subtle. If it was poison, and she was the one who did it, we need to catch her in the act."

"I'd like to cut her throat."

Gohan waved an impatient hand. "Wait and see. I didn't anticipate anything like that occurring, so I didn't bring any Senzu beans with me. Give me a day to regain my strength. You insist on fixing all my food, and watch out for the ingredients she allows you to use."

"What do you think I am, a flat?" Tien demanded, incensed.

Gohan swiftly ignored him. "Then, if this stomach infection hasn't returned and I'm feeling better, we'll have her prepare me a splendid meal."

"We will?"

The feeling of anger returned, but the time, Gohan allowed it to slowly grow. He smiled with haunting sweetness. "And we'll make her eat it first."

Tien nodded, chuckling. "You always were a bad one," he said.

"I try, Tien. I do try." And closing his eyes, Gohan Son fell into an exhausted sleep. Only to dream, inexplicably, of Satan City.

* * *

Vegeta will be more in-character in the next chapter!

Please let me know what you think?

-Rhen-chan


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Gohan was sixteen when he first went to Satan City. He was old enough for a grand tour, too old to have an impoverished cleric leading him around with a guidebook. Indeed, his main goal in his tour was to raise as much hell as he could get away with.

He'd been sent away from the top university in Fire Mountain, of course; all his teachers had insisted he go to university early, as they deemed him a genius. It had taken him the better part of three years to accomplish that, but in the end he did, wasting the expensive education his parents had provided for him.

Suffice to say, it had been a close call. The problem was, he found he actually enjoyed studying. He'd been on the verge of some disastrous escapade; something guaranteed to blacken him in the eyes of all and sundry, when something would pique his interest. And his interests were damnably wide.

He studied the properties of electricity and the workings of the human body. He immersed himself in the study of warfare, in various philosophies. He even allowed himself to be temporarily seduced by the workings of the legal systems, before his goal in life revived itself.

That goal being to humiliate his father. The father that abandoned him, ignored him, turned from him in disgust when his younger son and beloved wife had died. Nothing Gohan ever did was good enough for his father; no attempt at earning his love, or even his approval, succeeded. Eventually the demi-Saiyan had given up trying, deciding that if he was doomed to disapproval and dislike from his father, then he'd do his best to deserve it.

Not that his father had lived a sober, blameless life. There was bad blood in the Sons, the insanity ran deep, and Goku Son, in his diligence to appear untouched by the family instability, had carried sedate behaviour to an extreme. And Gohan had rebelled, flinging the dark family history in his father's face on every occasion, until finally, when he was close to graduating from graduating with the highest marks in the year, he'd made his move. A drunken brawl, followed by a horrendous scene in the conventionally silent library (involving one too many Ki blasts), followed by an inebriated disruption during an assembly, and Gohan Son was out on his ear, disgraced.

He hadn't been nearly so drunk as he'd pretended. Just drunk enough to give himself the courage to do it. He'd remembered the expressions on the faces of his peers; his lab partner's mouth had dropped open in shock, for example, and that arrogant bastard, Vegeta, simply sat there with an eyebrow raised. And he'd seen the horrified expression on his father's face, as he'd screamed obscenities at him before collapsing at his desk.

He'd felt no triumph later that night as he'd stood by his father's bedside and watched him struggle for breath. A matter of time, the doctor had said, after he made a reluctant Gohan give his father a Senzu bean. The next apoplectic fit would carry him off, Senzu bean or not, and unless his black-sheep son made himself scarce, that fit would come all too soon.

Gohan felt no guilt. None at all, he told himself, as he watched his father struggle. He would have been more than happy to stay and watch his father die, if it hadn't been for the implacable decision of Krillen.

His father's friend was a bachelor, one who possessed an amazing amount of tolerance. Gohan had always wished Krillen had been his father, instead of the Saiyan who'd made his life a torment. Maybe then the blackness wouldn't eat into his soul as it had. But then, blood will tell. And the tainted blood of the mad Sons ran thick and blue in his veins.

Yet, even tolerant Krillen drew the line at inadvertent patricide. He'd sent Gohan off on his grand tour with more than enough funds from his own private account, and told him to come back a man. One ready to learn responsibility.

And he might have done just that. He'd dallied in the brothels of Aenona City, fallen in love with Bridgetown, and had been bewitched by Parsley City, moving through the places with a single-minded absorption in his own pleasure. He was ready to return home, ready to make peace with a father who was, against all odds, recuperating.

It was then he made one of the worst mistakes in a mistake-strewn life.

Responsibility, Krillen had told him. One responsibility to make a courtesy visit to his godparents in Satan City, godparents he'd never even met. Sir Satan and Lady Satan had been friend's of his father's, their position as his godparents only a mere formality. But those formalities begat more formalities, and there was no way he could go anywhere near Satan City without spending several nights at their manor.

For once he was on his best behaviour. The long absence from his father and the shadows of his childhood instilled in him the desire to be a new man, and he was doing his best to live up to that desire. He was polite and deferential to Sir Satan, charming to his little wife, brotherly to the young boy, Lucifer.

But it was the daughter who disturbed him. The one with the odd name, Videl, and the huge, trusting eyes. The quick, deliate gestures, the silvery magic of her laughter. The pure, innocent grace of her tore at his heart. And his loins.

He'd bedded a number of willing females in his life. Barmaids and aristocrats, chambermaids and duchesses, he'd had his pick of any number of accommodating females. He had no delusions about his appeal. He knew he had a way about him, a certain combination of form and features, that females found attractive. And he discovered within himself a dangerous kind of charm that made that attraction even more volatile.

But the females were all experienced. All older than he was, all buxom, sensual females with eager appetites and sophisticated practices. He'd learned a great deal from them, and enjoyed himself immensely.

But he'd never been moved by someone little more than a child. Wanted someone trembling on the very edge of womanhood. His longing for her disgusted him, but as each day passed, and the three-day visit stretched into weeks, that longing increased until it was an obsession.

He assumed she didn't know. She was far too young, far too innocent to realize what was going on in his satyr's mind every time she took his hand, smiled up at him, kissed his cheek, and left a trail of her delicate scent behind.

It could have gone on forever. Or at least until she was old enough, if fate hadn't conspired to change his life. To halt the right turn he'd made, sending him tumbling back into blackness and despair. Into evil.

He'd known what the letter would contain the moment he'd recognised Krillen's handwriting. Krillen would never write anything more tedious than a gaming IOU unless it was a matter of life and death. Indeed, it was the latter.

Sir Goku Son had succumbed to another fit of apoplexy. Krillen hadn't given any of the particulars, but Gohan could well imagine them. He'd probably died lamenting the fact that his name and his estates could only descend to a worthless, ramshackle creature like his older surviving son. He probably cursed him with his dying breath, never knowing that Gohan had made his first tentative steps on the road toward redemption.

He sat alone in the gardens of the elegant manor of his godparents, and crumpled the letter in his large hand. There was a curious burning in his eyes, one that must have been occasioned by the brightness of the overcast sun. A similar ache hovered somewhere mid-chest, and he ascribed that to a surfeit of port with his godfather the night before. He sat alone, dry-eyed, and felt the first fiery tendrils of rage begin to rekindle inside him.

It was there his godfather found him. Sir Hercule Satan was a kindly man, but one not given to sensitivity or introspection. To give him his due, he had a great deal on his mind at the moment, chief of which was to ask a huge favour of his charming godson.

"News from home?" he inquired, taking a seat on the marble bench next to Gohan's tightly strung body.

The demi-Saiyan promptly shoved the letter into his pocket. "Nothing to signify," he replied with utmost casualness. "It seems I've got to return to Fire Mountain. Tomorrow."

Hercule's face paled slightly. "Then perhaps now is as good a time as any for our little talk."

It took a moment for Gohan to rouse himself from his furious abstraction. "Little talk?"

"About the future."

"With due respect, sir, I wasn't aware that our futures were in any way connected," Gohan drawled.

Hercule cleared his throat and looked miserable. "Not as yet," he replied. "Perhaps you'll allow me to explain a few things to you?"

At that moment Gohan wasn't interested in any explanations. His mind was preoccupied with how he was going to return to Fire Moutain as quickly as possible. And what he'd find when he got there. He simply nodded, paying scant attention while the large man rambled on about the unsettled social conditions in Satan City and the uprising of the lower class.

"Not that I believe it will come to anything," Hercule added hurriedly. "Satan City has stood for many years; this commotion won't be allowed to destroy it. Nevertheless, I am troubled, deeply troubled."

Gohan made a noncommittal noise. He could hire passage on one of the merchant boats that plied their trade, both legal and illegal, between Satan City and Parsley City. He was more than adept at turning a blind eye to the occasional cask of brandy. Surely he'd be able to find passage…

"So I'd like you to take Videl," the old man was saying.

"What?" Gohan forgot about smuggling for the moment to stare at his godfather in shock.

"I'd like you to take Videl with you to Fire Mountain. I've worked out an escape route for my wife and Lucifer, if things ever come to that. But there is only room for three, not four. And we will not leave if we don't know Videl is safe."

Gohan was having trouble making sense of the old man's ravings. "Safe? What the hell are you talking about?"

Sir Hercule flinched. "The political situation," he said with a trace of asperity. "Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? It's extremely volatile. If things continue as they are, we'll be safer if we leave the country for a while."

"Then leave the country."

"It's not that simple. Certainly, if we left now, we could all be together. But I'm not prepared. I have investment obligations… "

"In other words, no cash."

Sir Hercule winced. "You put it bluntly. But yes. I will have to liquidate certain holdings in order to live with a modicum of comfort until this fortunate situation improves. I am concerned that if we wait that long, we'll have to use the final escape route I've arranged, and that route doesn't allow room for a young girl. Therefore, I'm asking you as a gentleman and a friend to take Videl with you."

"No," Gohan said flatly.

Sir Hercule was no longer pale. He was red with sudden anger. "No?" he echoed. "Just like that. You can't-"

"I certainly can. You know as well as I do what taking her with me would mean. I would have to marry her."

The words fell in silence on the golden autumn afternoon. "Perhaps I have been mistaken," Sir Hercule said slowly. "I had thought there might be a … tenderness of feeling in your heart toward my daughter. A certain-"

"You are mistaken," Gohan replied flatly. "Any tenderness of feeling is on your daughter's side, not mine. She is a child. I am not in the habit of bedding children, or of marrying them. You will simply have to make other arrangements." His voice was cold, implacable, his heart a block of ice. Deliberately, he shut out the image of Videl, with her huge, cerulean eyes, her heart-shaped face; her full, rosy lips that were far more enticing than he let her father know. He had no room in his heart for softness, kindness, or vulnerable little girls.

"Even though you know you might be putting Videl into mortal danger?"

"It's not my responsibility, Sir. It's yours." Gohan rose, feeling distant, angry. "I think I'd better make arrangements to leave."

Hercule didn't move for a moment. "I cannot change your mind?"

"You cannot."

"Then it would be best if you left. Now."

Gohan managed a civil nod, turning away from the bitter old male. It was then he saw her.

She must have heard almost every word that had been spoken. Her father's request that he take her with him. His flat-out refusal and renunciation of her.

She didn't look like a child at all. Her face was pale, with two bright red spots of emotion on her high cheekbones. Her eyes were very dull, and her full, mobile mouth that could tilt so enchantingly was now ashen and trembling. She looked at him, and there was misery, love, and hatred in her eyes. He was going to turn his back on her, and never see her again. And he'd never wanted her more.

* * *

Videl sat in her kitchen, the beige puppy curled peacefully beneath her chair, her small feet together, her strong hands clasped loosely in her lap. Sooner or later she would have another chance, and next time she couldn't make a mistake. It had been hard enough the first time. Her hands had trembled when she added the poison, her brow had been dripped sweat, and one of the maids had had the temerity to ask her if she was feeling well.

She'd responded with her usual coolness, wiping her brow and hiding her trembling hands from the kitchen full of witnesses. She should have been feeling utterly glorious. The man who'd destroyed her family was going to die, at her hands. She would no longer be a victim. She would be a victor, someone who grabbed vengeance by the throat and shook it into submission. Those mesmerizing onyx eyes would be shut forever, that handsome body would be still and cold. He would be dead, along with everyone else she'd cared about. He'd be where he belonged.

Except that it hadn't worked out that way. For two days and nights he'd suffered, and then, blast him, he'd recovered. Weak, barely able to tolerate much more than the broth and bean bread his irritating valet prepared for him; he'd still managed to cheat death. This time.

But her chance would come again; it was bound to. And next time she wouldn't make a mistake. She'd put enough in the food to kill a group of Saiyans. Make it mercifully swift for him, though he didn't deserve mercy. And then she could either make her own meal of his poisoned food or accept the gallows.

She was wrong when she thought that everyone she cared about had died. She cared about Bulma, about the scandal that would surely follow. If there were some way to spare her, she'd take that way. But short of abandoning her plans for revenge, there was nothing.

Maybe, once she was certain he was dead, she'd run. Just disappear. There were plenty of ponds and lakes nearby, and the ocean was less than a day away, even on foot. Maybe she'd rather no one ever found her body. Just simply disappear.

She'd decide when the time came. For now, all she could do was be patient, and determined. Her resolve couldn't waver. If it did, she would remember he parents, shrivelled, pathetic. And very, very brave, as they climbed on to the pyre. Or she would think of her little brother.

* * *

Gohan dreamt of her that first year. When daylight came, and his thoughts were his own, he banished her presence. But at night, in sleep, she'd return to haunt him. Her rippling laughter, her delicate hands and merry smile. And he'd wonder whether he hadn't made a very grave mistake.

The situation in Satan City went from bad to worse, but he told himself that Sir Hercule Satan was too savvy a man to wait too long. He would get his family and his fortune safely out of Satan City, and he'd marry his daughter off to some other wealthy male. Besides, as he'd told the man, it wasn't his responsibility. It wasn't guilt he was feeling when word came that all of Satan City was in turmoil. That Dr Gero's guillotine had started its dreadful work. Or worse, people were being burned to death.

His father had left a great deal less than Gohan had expected. The estates were encumbered, falling into ruin, and there was no money to put them right. He did what any right-thinking gentleman would do, and turned to the gaming tables. Sometimes he lost, but more often he won. It was after a particularly lucrative night that Krillen had found him at his club, nursing a late-night brandy before returning to the slightly decrepit confines of his father's manor. He usually listened to the news of Satan City with only half an ear, preferring to ignore the plight of that unhappy place and its inhabitants. Tonight, however, was fated to be a different matter.

"Thought you might want to know," Krillen had said, sitting down in the chair opposite him and signalling for his own brandy.

"I probably don't," Gohan had said lazily. "When people think I should know things, it's usually something unpleasant. What do you think I should know?"

"Your godparents, Satan, wasn't that the name? Didn't you stay with them when your father died?"

Gohan was swirling the brandy in his glass. He didn't pause, just kept swirling it, his eyes intent on the rich amber liquid. "I did. What about them?" he asked, though he already knew.

"They were burned to death. Entire family, from what I can make out; children too. Uncivilized bastards," he added, glaring at his glass. "Disgusting people, making war on children."

Gohan kept swirling the brandy. "There's no doubt?" he asked in a carefully idle tone of voice. "The children too?"

"There's always doubt, you know what a mess things are over there. But my sources, damn them, are quite reliable. Too bad. You were fond of them, weren't you?"

Gohan raised his head and looked at Krillen. He had grown quite used to that empty, hollow feeling. Grown used to hiding what he didn't want seen. "I scarcely remember them," he said. "So tell me, are you planning on training later on?"

Krillen looked at him for a long moment, an odd expression on his face. As if he didn't believe what he was seeing. "Somehow, I don't have the heart for it," he replied heavily. "Didn't Satan have a daughter?"

Gohan shrugged. "He may have. Come to think of it, I believe there was one. Named Vivica, or something." His eyes met Krillen's and he realized the small man wasn't fooled. Krillen knew him far better than Gohan knew himself. "Videl," he said quietly, having known it all along. "Her name is Videl."

"Was," Krillen corrected. And then he slid out of the chair. "I'm going to rusticate. This takes the heart out of a man. You're welcome to join me at my club."

Gohan shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm quite looking forward to training."

Krillen started at him for a moment longer, and then shook his head. "As you wish, Gohan." And he walked away.

Gohan waited until he was gone. The night was dark outside the club window, dark and silent, and he found himself thinking that it would be a fortunate thing if the other members steered clear of him that night. They might regret tangling with him.

The time passed. No one approached him, his temper was legendary, and Krillen had warned them when he left. Finally, as dawn was streaking over the street, Gohan finally decided to return home. He looked down at his hand in remote wander.

The brandy glass had been crushed, the shards of glass digging into his skin. Some of the blood had already dried on his long fingers, some had pooled on the floor beneath him.

He stood up, brushing the slivers of glass from his skin, pausing long enough to pick out the larger pieces. And then, wrapping his silk handkerchief around his palm, he walked out into the early-morning light.

One week later, he killed his first man in a duel and returned to the gaming tables with a vengeance.

It took a great deal longer to go to hell then he would have imagined, given the single-minded dedication he applied to the task. Even the bottle couldn't provide the oblivion he sought, and fleecing young males of their fortunes began to lose its charm. Particularly since he refused to cheat, and his victims were such abysmally rotten gamesters.

He'd been half-hoping Sharpener Pencille would put a merciful end to his existence. He hadn't really been attracted to his greedy, lust-filled little wife, but he seldom turned down an invitation to bed if the female issuing the invitation was married, wealthy, and quite attractive. When he'd deloped he'd know the male he was meeting wasn't the type to honour that implied apology.

If only Pencille hadn't been such a terrible shot. Gohan Son certainly wanted to die, but he was damned if he was going to stand around in the early-morning chill while a backstabbing fool pitifully attempted to shoot him. He'd finally given up and ended the farce, probably ending Pencille's life too. And then Krillen had forced him to decamp.

And now here he was, with someone quite determined to kill him. Human nature was off, he thought, disdaining Tien's help as he dressed with care. One might wish an unbearable life to come to an end, but it had to be on one's own terms. He certainly wasn't going to sit still whilst a tiny poisoner finished him off.

The door to his bedroom opened. Tien of course, never bothering to knock. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked, his face disapproving. "You still don't look fully healed."

Gohan waved a dismissive hand at him. "I'm perfectly fit. At least, fit enough to deal with the chef, if indeed she is our Lucrezia Borgia. I still can't imagine why she'd want to kill me."

"Finding people who want to kill you isn't the issue," Tien said lightly. "Finding people who don't want to kill you will be a great deal more difficult."

Gohan found himself amused. "I haven't lived an exemplary life," he drawled. "As a matter of fact, I was more than ready to have it ended for me. Until this."

Tien snorted. "Are you sure you wouldn't want to just eat whatever gets put in front of you and take your chances?"

"A week ago I would have done just that. Now I have a new interest in life. It's amazing how having someone attempt to murder you can give you a new lease on life."

"That it can," his valet drawled, but even Gohan couldn't miss the dark shadow of concern in Tien's black eyes. "I'll tell her to bring up the tray myself, shall I?"

"Do that," Gohan said, running a hand through his unruly hair and smiling sweetly. "I'm ready to be entertained."

* * *

"You seem troubled," a rough voice broke through Bulma's abstraction as she stood with a group of female Saiyans after the presentation. Bulma looked up, straight into the dark eyes of Prince Vegeta.

"Vegeta!" she shrieked, maidenly decorum abandoned as she flung herself against his broad chest.

Someone cleared their throat, and Bulma turned to find Eighteen looking at her pointedly, as if to remind her to watch her behaviour. Bulma glanced and found that a few Saiyan females were eyeing her strangely.

Sudden self-consciousness flooded Bulma, turning her pale face pink with embarrassment, and she tried to pull away in shame. But Vegeta simply caught her hand and pulled her arm around his waist, keeping her snugly by his side. "I haven't seen you in a while," he said lazily.

"I've been rusticating, Vegeta. There are too many people still looking for husbands nowadays. I don't want to crowd the lists."

Vegeta grunted, shaking his head. "Lord, Bulma, next thing I know you'll be wearing little lace caps and sitting in the corner gossiping with all the old maids. Promise me you'll never go that far."

"I promise," she said, smiling up at him. Just looking at him made her heart clench. Vegeta hadn't a spare ounce of flesh on him, and every part of him was solid, implacable muscle. He needed no padding in his exquisitely tailored waistcoats, no sawdust in his breeches. He was just a great deal of very solid, very handsome, very indolent male. His waist beneath her arms felt warm and hard, and she was suddenly self-conscious again.

This time he let her go, with only a subtle quizzical glance in her direction as she sat down on a nearby chair, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. His face was a fitting complement to his body. Handsome, with a regal nose, strong chin, marked cheekbones and dark hair.

He took a seat beside her, arms crossed. "I thought your father was going to doing the presentation."

Bulma had known the Saiyan Prince long enough to hear the unspoken question. She snorted. "I had no choice in the matter," she answered, pleating her orchid-hued skirt. "Krillen begged me to let Gohan Son stay at Capsule Hall while he waited to see whether his latest duel was a killing affair. I, of course, would not be allowed to remain there. It's absurd, when a female reaches a certain age, that she's still considered compromisable, but Krillen was very insistent that I let Gohan stay."

"Good," Vegeta replied lazily. "You are still eminently compromisable, Bulma, and you probably will be when you're older."

"Bulma!"

Bulma turned around, her eyes falling on one of her distant relatives, Tights, who lived in Fire Mountain. The older female walked over to the two, blushing slightly when she made eye contact with the Saiyan Prince. "Have you heard the latest scandal?"

Bulma shook her head, whilst Vegeta simply turned his head away, uninterested.

"There's been a death," Tights whispered.

Vegeta slowly turned his head towards the older female, her blush reappearing once more. Bulma's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sharpener Pencille succumbed?" he guessed.

"Indeed. His widow is already proving herself a merry one indeed. I imagine Gohan Son will be come out from wherever he's hiding the moment he receives the news." At this, Bulma and Vegeta shared a look; the former's expression one of relief, whilst the latter's was unreadable.

After Tights scurried away, no doubt to inform others of this latest scandalous revelation, Bulma turned to the Saiyan Prince. "I can go home," she said, as relief flooded her.

"You can go home," Vegeta agreed. "Though I rather hope you won't."

"Why not?" she glanced up at him in surprise.

"Because I haven't seen you in over two years, and on that occasion you trounced me twice at chess. Now, I consider myself a more than adequate chess player, and to be beaten twice by anyone, particularly by a snip of a girl, is a blow to my monumental self-esteem. You have to give me a chance to redeem my honour. I've been practicing."

Bulma gave a fond smile. She remembered introducing Vegeta to the game a few years ago, simply to beat him at something. Although he caught on quick, she did manage to beat him; his Saiyan pride had been wounded.

She was torn. Hours spent with Vegeta over a chessboard had to account for some of the most peaceful, happiest hours of her life, even though she suspected he let her win the second time, as it had been her birthday. Her worry over Videl and Capsule Hall, however, had been driving her sorely. "I really should get back," she said, hesitating.

"Why? Gohan Son will be long gone, and you have a very competent staff. There's no hurry."

Bulma considered it. Vegeta was absolutely right. It was Gohan's presence that worried. Once he was gone, away from Capsule Hall, she'd no longer have any cause for panic. If he had run off with any weapons, or the footman's daughter, it would be too late to do anything about it. Besides, Vegeta was her best, dearest friend. When he was around, she felt protected and content.

"I'll stay," she said, "Long enough to convince you that I really am the superior chess player."

A smirk lit Vegeta's handsome face.

"Bulma, prepare yourself for a long siege."

* * *

This must be what it felt like, Videl thought with a noticeable absence of emotion. To walk down the hallway at the prison in Satan City, to climb into the tumbrel and be borne through the streets. This must be what it felt like, to walk to your doom, bravely, head held high, prepared for horror.

Prepared for death.

She gripped the large tray tightly in her small hands, ignoring the valet following close behind her. She knew what lay beneath the silver covers. Miso soup, along with sliced baguettes. Teriyaki, with some edamame. Two slices of treacle tart. And a pot of scalding herbal tea, made from chamomile for the stomach, comfrey for the blood, and arsenic for long overdue justice.

She had one of Bulma's smaller knives from her lab, coated with her secretive substance that could kill a male, human or Saiyan, in one pocket of her capacious cloak. It was not as large as the dagger she would have preferred, but that was far too big. The weasel-eyed Tien would have noticed it clanging against her trembling knees. Gohan Son might very well disdain something as bland as herbal tea. So she'd dosed the brandy bottle as well.

Her feet tripped on something, and the tray almost went flying. Tien righted her in time, his rough hand beneath her elbow, steadying her. "We wouldn't this splendid meal to fall on to the floor, would we, Miss?" he said with a wicked grin, flashing his teeth.

"No," Videl replied faintly. "We wouldn't."

She didn't want to watch him die. She told herself it was simple common sense on her part. If she had any intention of escaping, of getting away with meting out her own rough justice, then she needed to be as far away from Gohan Son when he met his maker as she could manage.

Besides, she'd seen enough people die. Perhaps she ought to watch the demi-Saiyan in the throes of agony, as recompense for the loss of her parents, the loss of her innocence. But she no longer wanted to. His death would be solace enough.

He was still in Bulma's favourite salon. Dressed just as negligently as before, he lounged in one delicate satin chair, his white shirt open at the neck, his embroidered silk vest unfastened, his breeches almost indecently tight and his hair was dishevelled. Videl allowed herself to meet his gaze. He was paler than when she'd last seen him, and his dark eyes were shadowed with a banked kind of rage, for all that he was smiling that damnable, seductive smile.

"Don't be shy, Miss," he drawled, his voice a silken thread, pulling her into the room. "I promise I'm no longer at death's door. I'm needful of some company, and the housemaids all pathetically giggle and stammer. I expect you, with that politely shielded hostility, will prove much more interesting."

The door had closed behind Videl, and Tien had disappeared.

It seemed that tonight he possessed no interest in serving his master. It would be up to Videl; with her own hands she'd have to hand him the cup of tea that would kill him.

Her hands didn't tremble as she set the heavy tray down on the dainty gateleg table that usually held Bulma's embroidery silks. Bulma was an execrable needlewoman; disasters from her hands decorated the sitting room. Videl tried to concentrate on one particularly ugly pillow, supposedly a representation of a heron that more closely resembled a donkey digesting itself, and it took all her concentration to pour the demi-Saiyan a cup of herbal tea.

She backed away, toward the door, when Gohan's eyes impaled her. "Don't leave yet, Miss. Surely you want to see my enjoy this estimable repast?"

"I… I have work to do… " She found her self-possession wasn't quite what she had hoped for. She pulled it back around her with steely strength. "I have my duties, sir," she said, more firmly.

"At this hour, everyone must be fed. Besides, your first duty should be to your betters, not your fellow servants, is that not true? Sit."

Videl flushed at the deliberately insulting tone of his voice, and the ice in his final command, but she simply couldn't bring herself to sit. The door opened behind her, one of Tien's large hands clamped onto her shoulder and shoved her, with astonishing roughness, into the chair before handing Gohan a shaggy beige bundle.

It was a full moment later that Videl realized what that squirming beige bundle was, and the horror of her situation came home to her.

* * *

Next chapter will definitely have more G/V. :)

-Rhen-chan


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"A most charming puppy," Gohan said, holding the furry little creature up to his face, and for a moment his harsh features softened, gentled, and Videl remembered a boy in his teenage years, a boy who still possessed a heart. "Tien informed me that you had a pet in the kitchen. My father wouldn't allow me to have a dog. Filthy creatures, he called them. I've always been rather fond of them myself. What's this fellow's name?"

"Please," she said softly, she who never begged, never asked; she who was indomitable.

"His name?" Gohan repeated with utmost icy patience.

"Bee."

His long fingers stroked Bee's soft fur. "Your mistress loves you very much, young fellow, doesn't she?"

Videl was no longer capable of saying a word. She heard the door close behind her, and knew that Tien had left them alone once more. She watched, trying to pull herself into that safe, secret place inside, where nothing could reach her, as Gohan continued to murmur to her beloved pet.

"Some people don't approve of feeing animals at the table," Gohan murmured. "But then, this isn't really the table, is it, Bee? We're much more casual than that, and I know a lively fellow like you would appreciate your mistress' good cooking. What about a taste of this miso soup? Your mistress isn't saying a word, though she looks quite pale. Do you suppose she's jealous?"

Videl attempted to pull herself together. "I'd really rather you wouldn't feed him. He doesn't have much of an appetite."

Gohan's onyx eyes blazed into hers, full of cold, icy rage as his mouth curved into a charming smile. "But I'm not interested in your wishes, haven't I made that clear?" He broke off a piece of the baguette, dipping it into the soup and held it in front of Bee's tiny black nose. The puppy devoured it, wagging his tail in pleasure, and Videl wanted to scream.

"You liked that, did you?" Gohan said softly. "I'll have to try some myself, then," and he popped a piece in his mouth. "I'm probably being foolish. What agrees with a puppy's constitution might not agree with mine. Would you like to try a piece of treacle tart? Delicious, isn't it? Your mistress is a wonderful cook."

Videl wanted to shriek, but her throat had closed up entirely. She tried to find that safe, cold place, but it eluded her, leaving her raw, aching with pain. Surely revenge wouldn't require this sacrifice too? She'd lost too much. She couldn't lose the only creature who depended on her, trusted her, loved her without question.

And who was this handsome, smiling monster who'd calmly sit there and poison a helpless, affectionate little puppy who'd never harmed him? A puppy foolish enough to wag his tail and lick Gohan's long fingers.

He couldn't, wouldn't, feed a dog herbal tea or brandy, Videl finally realized. Bee was safe. She wasn't. There was no way Tien would let her escape now that somehow, some way, Gohan knew.

Bee had finally devoured everything on Gohan's heavy silver tray. Everything but the tea and the brandy. Gohan's dark eyes moved from Bee's wiggly little body to Videl's pale face. "It all seemed to agree with him," he murmured, setting the puppy down on the floor.

Bee immediately raced over to Videl, dancing in pleasure. She wanted to reach down and pick him up, to pull him close to her body, but she felt stiff, frozen, awkward. Before she could catch him, he danced back to the male who'd fed him so well and stroked him so nicely, clearly ready for more attention.

"A sweet dog," Gohan drawled. "You need something to drink. Now I know you don't fancy tea much," he said as he poured some of the richly scented mixture into a saucer, "but if I add a great deal of milk I expect you'll find it palatable. You're… "

This time Videl could move.

She jumped up, knocking against the table, and her small hand caught the porcelain teapot, sending it flying, with the saucer full of hot tea following suit, smashing on the floor.

"Dear me," Gohan said faintly, his eyes dark with unfathomable emotion.

"Milk doesn't agree with him," Videl said, not moving. The hot tea had soaked into her dress, scorching her skin, but she made no move to mop it up.

"A shame. And all the dishes have been smashed. I'm afraid your mistress might very well take that out of your wages. Except that your mistress is Bulma, and she's a ridiculously soft touch." Gohan glanced over at the mess on the floor. "There's no tea left."

Videl gracefully reached down and scooped up Bee's small body before he could investigate the stain on the thick Aubusson carpet, squeezing him so tightly that he yelped in protest. "You'll have to make do with brandy," she said quietly, and turned to leave.

Tien was at the door, barring her way. There was a sinister smile on his face, and he reached out and swiftly took the puppy from her.

She had no choice. She let Bee go. She could see that Tien's hands were gentle on the puppy's beige coat, and she knew she was past the point where she could protect him. He closed the door in her face, and she stood there, her back to her nemesis, as she pulled the last, fraying remnants of her self-control back around her like a magic cloak.

She turned and looked at him, her face composed. Not even the sight of the brandy bottle and the half-full glass could overset her. Fate had taken a hand, and she could no longer fight it.

"You look pale, Miss," Gohan said softly, rising and walking over to her. She'd forgotten how tall her was, towering over her own diminutive frame. He walked with a certain menacing grace, avoiding the shattered crockery, and the brandy was in one strong hand. "I think you need this brandy more than I do."

So be it. With any luck it would take long enough to work that he too would partake of it, convinced it was harmless. If he didn't, she still had her knife.

"Perhaps I do," she replied just as softly, taking the glass from his hand and bringing it to her lips before she could regret her decision.

He moved swiftly as snake, dashing the glass out of her hand, so that the poisoned brandy drenched the front of her dress.

"Do you think I'm going to let you take the easy way out?" he demanded, catching her wrist in a hard, bruising grip. "I want answers. I want to know why you're intent on killing me. What have I ever done to harm you?"

It was the final piece of dry kindling on the conflagration of her rage. That he didn't even remember her, that he'd destroyed her life and her family without even feeling a pang of guilt, made her fury boil over. She jerked away from him, reaching inside her cloak's pocket for the knife, determined to plunge it into his heart.

It was gone.

"Tien used to work for a thief," Gohan said, his face distant and unreadable. "He relieved you of that little knife when you were too busy to notice. Who are you, Miss? What do you want of me?"

She couldn't break away. His long fingers on her tiny wrist were close to crushing the fragile bones. Not that it mattered. They would hang her with a broken wrist as easily as not.

"I thought it would be obvious." She spat the words with vehemence. "I want you dead."

His honest confusion was all the more infuriating. "But why?" Something dawned in his mind. "We've crossed paths before," he stated, rather the questioned.

Her silence was the confirmation he needed.

There was no change in Gohan's expression. Just a faint shadowing of his dark eyes, a tightening of his lips.

"I see," he said, his voice hauntingly soft. "I should have known one of my sins would come back to haunt me."

* * *

"I don't understand why you're determined to leave," Vegeta drawled. He was lounging in a chair, a glass of particularly fine claret in one large, well-shaped hand. "Gohan Son must have left by now if he has any brains at all, and I've always found him to be irritatingly intelligent. So there's no need to rush back to your house like a frightened rabbit."

Bulma shook her head. "I can't help it, Vegeta. I feel uneasy. That happens to me sometimes, an odd sense of something being terribly wrong. It happened just before a cousin was killed, it happened when my mother died. I need to get back to Capsule Hall."

"No one is going to die, Bulma. Besides, you have to beat me at chess before you depart. I've trounced you solidly these last three days. You need your revenge."

"I'm far too distracted to concentrate. Besides, I expect I win when you're in the mood to let me win."

"Are you accusing me of cheating? I could call you out for that if you were a man," he said, stretching his muscular legs in front of him and admiring his black breeches.

Bulma had to admit that Vegeta had superb legs. She forced herself to concentrate. "But I'm not a man," she pointed out, huffing slightly.

"I've noticed," he replied dryly, an odd expression on his face.

"And besides, you only cheat to lose. That's hardly a grave insult."

"Any irregularity in matters of gaming is deemed worthy of a duel."

"But you don't fight duels."

"There's always a first. Do you want me to vanquish Gohan Son if he's still in residence? I could call him out, rip his heart out, and finish the business there and then."

Bulma felt an odd little start of panic. "Don't be absurd, Vegeta. He'd be much more likely to kill you."

"I didn't know you cared," Vegeta replied dryly.

"Who else could I beat at chess?" she demanded with a mischievous smile.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes slightly. "Very well, I'll keep myself safe. I cannot talk you into remaining a few more days?"

"You cannot," she replied, stifling the pang inside.

"Then I'll escort you back to Capsule Hall. The roads are dangerous nowadays, with highwaymen and the like. And if Gohan hasn't departed, I can at least speed him on the way."

"I won't be able to offer you any hospitality," she warned him, much pleased by his offer.

Vegeta waved a dismissive hand. "I wouldn't expect it. Does that mean I'm considered as great a threat as Gohan Son? What a compliment."

"Any male is considered a threat. And it's entirely ridiculous. Are you certain you want to accompany me, Vegeta? After all, you'd be curtailing your own visit as well. I thought you planned on staying a fortnight."

Vegeta looked at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "I find my reason for being here to have disappeared. When you depart I'll be more than ready to depart too."

He didn't mean what she thought he did. Bulma was wise enough to realise that. Nevertheless, she was too shy to ask exactly what he meant. On this rare occasion, ignorance was indeed bliss.

"When would you care to leave?" Vegeta continued, obviously unaware of the troubled direction her thoughts had taken.

"As soon as possible. Tomorrow morning, at first light. I simply can't rid myself of the feeling that something quite terrible has happened."

Vegeta drained his claret. "And I'll be more than happy to prove to you that nothing at all is amiss. Your famous chef can provide me with a large meal as thanks, and I'll spend the night at the local tavern. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

"Perfect," Bulma answered. "As long as…" She let her voice trail off in confusion. She was about to say as long as Videl was still there. But there'd be no reason for her to have left. She certainly wasn't going to fall prey to Gohan Son's wiles.

"As long as what?"

She managed a bright smile. "As long as you let me beat you at chess again."

"Done," Vegeta replied, a curious warmth in his dark eyes. "You have only to ask."

Bulma was used to polite phrases from gentlemen who never meant them. Vegeta was being just as glib. It was only her fault that she half-believed he meant them.

* * *

Gohan Son leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair. He was furious, and cursing. Not cursing as much as the female now lying on the bed in the next room, neatly trussed and tied by Tien and him when the fight finally ran out of her.

She'd managed to inflict a fair amount of damage. He'd only remained impassive after his discovery that they had in fact met previously, and she went wild, obviously wanting to kill him with those small hands since he'd deprived her of any weapon. He wouldn't have thought such a tiny creature could be quite so dangerous, but it took some strength to subdue her. He ended up straddling her in the middle of the room, hoping she wasn't being cut by the shards of crockery that she'd smashed earlier.

It was absurd to be concerned. She was determined to kill him. Why he should worry about her well-being was beyond nonsensical.

If he had a decent bone in his body, he'd simply decamp, leaving her in her ignominious position until one of the other servants found her. He'd overstayed his welcome, and since he'd had no word Sharpener Pencille, he could pretty much assume the idiot was going to recover. He and Tien should simply head back to Fire Mountain and the opprobrium of their friends, head back to the gaming tables and the fine claret and the unpoisoned brandy.

But Gohan wasn't going to do that. If he simply left, the little chef might very well count her blessings and behave herself. But he didn't think so. He'd never seen hatred so intense before. She would follow him, and he'd end up with Bulma's knife between his shoulder blades when he least expected it.

No, he would leave Capsule Hall, all right. But he wasn't going to Fire Mountain and his warm, comfortable rooms. He was going to Parsley City, to the tumbled-down hunting lodge that was part of his entailed inheritance, a place he hadn't seen since he was ten years old. A place he'd once loved.

And he and Tien certainly weren't going alone.

* * *

Videl was cold. Miserably, achingly cold, her entire body trembling. She must have gotten soft in the last year, living in the comfort of Capsule hall. She'd prided herself on being impervious to minor discomforts like the weather, and here she was, shivering.

Fear had nothing to do with it, she told herself, squirming around on the too-soft bed. She was afraid of nothing on this earth. She'd faced the worst, and survived, whether she'd wanted to or not. Fate couldn't send her any more cruel blows.

He'd tied her wrists too tightly, but then she already knew he was a conscienceless bastard. She'd put up a fight, a fact that gave her no small pleasure. She'd worked hard for a living, and her muscles were strong, so it was no wonder that there was a possibility that he would have been bested by a female more than half his size and weight.

His recent bout with poison might have something to do with his weakness, she admitted, albeit reluctantly. If he hadn't spent the last day two days near death, her could have defeated her a great deal more handily. It had been a long time since she'd had to use her limited strength to protect herself, and she'd gotten out of the habit. She was soft, dangerously, soft.

Videl rolled over on her side, grimacing in the darkness. She could hear their voices drifting in from the other room, and she wondered with a kind of emotionless curiosity just what they had planned for her. Whether she was about to be handed over to the local magistrate, or whether Gohan Son had a more immediate, personal revenge in mind. The local authorities wouldn't take kindly to her, for one thing; she'd attempted to kill a gentleman, an undisputed member of the upper classes. To be sure, he was the blackest, most disreputable gentleman she'd ever come across, and he deserved to die a lingering, painful death, but she doubted the magistrate would agree.

She felt cold and sticky. The brandy had dried and stiffened on the front of her dress, and her clothes had been torn during her furious assault. Her long dark hair hung around her face, and she must have looked like all the furies combined. It hadn't even daunted Gohan. He'd chuckled at her, chuckled at her rage. For that alone she wanted him dead.

But she'd lost. She'd half-expected to, from the moment she knew he'd arrived at Capsule Hall. Her course had been set in motion, and she'd had no choice but to follow it, even knowing it was doomed to failure. Her only regret was that she hadn't been able to bring him down with her.

She ached all over. Her head throbbed painfully, and she remembered his hand crashing into her, throwing her furiously against the wall, as she'd attempted to scratch his eyes out. He didn't possess any gentlemanly scruples, at least she could grant him that. If he had, he might not be alive now.

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, struggling to catch her breath against the tightness of her bonds. The shadows from the firelight flickered against the ceiling, casting ominous shapes overhead, and she wondered how long she had to regain her strength, her determination. How long before she had to fight again.

The door opened slowly, and she held herself very still, already prepared for a renewal of the battle. And then she heard the familiar scrabble of paws on the parquetry floor and an anxious yip as Bee hurtled himself at the bed. It took him a number of attempts to breach it, and then he was pouncing all over her, licking her anxiously with his rough little tongue, making a soft whining noise in the back of his throat.

They hadn't gagged her. There was no need. Who would have paid the slightest bit of attention if she called for help?

"Poor baby," she whispered, her voice a soft caress. "I'm all right, I promise you." Her voice sounded rough, even to her own ears, and the puppy was placated. He whimpered again, placing his cold wet nose against her cheek, licking anxiously.

"You can't imagine how it gratifies me to hear that," a hateful voice drifted to her ears from the open door.

She didn't turn her head to look at him, didn't give him any indication that she'd heard him. She hadn't many defences left; she intended to cherish each one. Videl kept her gaze concentrated on the shadowed ceiling as he strolled into the room. A moment later, Bee was scooped off her chest, and she braced herself to hear a canine yelp of pain.

She'd underestimated Gohan. "Your mistress isn't in the mood for kisses," he said to the puppy in a soothing voice. "And we don't want you licking the brandy off her clothes, now do we? It's best you leave." He set the puppy down on the floor and gave him a nudge.

Bee bounced back onto the bed with an indignant yip, and Videl had no choice but to look at the puppy, ignoring the tall, dark figure that loomed above her.

"You're just as determined as your mistress, aren't you?" Gohan said, and there was a trace of cool amusement in his voice. "Tien," he called over his shoulder. "Dispose of this creature, will you?"

Videl couldn't help her instinctive protest as he once more scooped Bee's wiggling body off her.

Tien appeared beside the bed, taking the puppy in patient hands. "What do you want me to do with him?"

Gohan was watching her very carefully, gauging her reaction, and she concentrated all her limited energies on keeping her face blank. "You could always drown him," he said, smirking. "Or break his neck."

"No!" The voice was torn out of her. Shame filled her at her weakness, but she couldn't let him die without a protest.

"No?" Gohan echoed, leaning over her. "Are you asking me to save your little dog?"

Videl wanted to spit in his face. She stared up at him, into his dark, merciless eyes, and wished she could curse him. "Yes," she said quietly, forcing the word.

He smiled then, a small, cool smile of triumph. "Take the dog to the housekeeper and tell her to watch over him until Bulma returns, Tien. I'm sure she will look after him."

It was the best she could hope for, and part of her despised accepting even that much mercy from the demi-Saiyan. She bit her bottom lip, determined not to show any gratitude, but he was wise enough to expect none.

"What do you want me to tell Miss Lunch?" Tien asked, pausing in the doorway.

"What we'd planned on," Gohan said, staring down at her, unmoved by the hatred in her blue eyes. "That Miss has decided a life of drudgery can't compare with that of a Saiyan gentleman's mistress."

"No!" she protested, but he simply smirked, his large hand reaching out to stroke the side of her face gently. She jerked away furiously, but he caught her, his hand hard and unrelenting. Videl nearly winced at the bruising pressure.

"I'm not going to bed you now," he said softly. "I merely think it would be politic for the servants of Capsule Hall to think you prefer my bed to the kitchens. I gather you haven't informed Bulma about your past, about me wronging you in some way. Most unwise on your part. If she knew, she'd raise heaven and earth trying to stop me. As it is, she'll simply have to assume her female chef was vulnerable to the lures of sex and money, like most female servants."

"Stop you from doing what?" Videl asked.

For a moment, his dark eyes lit up with mocking humour. "Why, I'm not sure yet. I'll make it up as I go along. Are you going to allow me to accompany you out to the carriage obediently, or am I going to have to use brute force?"

"I'd prefer you take me to the magistrate."

"I'm certain you would, but I consider that option far too boring. I find I really dislike being poisoned, and some small, ignoble part of me is longing for retribution. You should understand that much, shouldn't you, Miss? For whatever crimes you imagine I committed against you and yours, you decided you'd murder me. Perhaps I'll return the favour."

"Do it now," she said fiercely.

Gohan simply shook his head, the faint, damnable smile on his face. "Anticipation is half the pleasure," he said.

"I won't come willingly."

"Subduing defiance is the other half," Gohan said, and for the first time she noticed the snowy-white neck cloth in his hands. A moment later the gag was in place, tied behind her head, and she stopped struggling, knowing that the more she struggled, the longer his hands would touch her. And she found the touch of his hands unnerving.

He hauled her into a sitting position, and a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. She'd hit her head during her struggles, and the pain was just beginning to reassert itself. She refused to let herself sway, sitting very still, waiting.

He was fully dressed, an ominous sign. He was a symphony in chiaroscuro, from his shiny black boots, carelessly tied cravat, silver-trimmed black coat, and dark, black breeches. He looked like the devil himself, and she wondered whether he was planning to go straight to hell. And whether he was planning on taking her too.

He draped the bright blue silk cape around her, and she didn't bother protesting. He knew full well it was Bulma's, and he'd chosen it anyway. He fastened it beneath her chin, his long fingers cool against her skin, and pulled the hood up over her head.

"Not that the servants will be under any illusions," he drawled, surveying her with a thoughtful air. "I just don't happen to want them to realize you're not quite willing. They keep their distance from you; Tien discovered that much in the servants' hall. The maids think you're insufferably proud. They'll be absolutely delighted to think you lifted your skirts for the likes of me."

Videl lunged at him, forgetting her ankles were bound together, and he caught her as she fell against him. "So eager, aren't you?" he murmured. "You're right, we've overstayed our welcome." And he scooped her up in his arms easily, the enveloping cape wrapped around her bound arms and legs, the hood hiding her face. "Very romantic," he said in a dry voice. "I suggest you don't waste your time trying to struggle. I'll be able to subdue quite efficiently, but I'd have to hurt you. I'm not ready to do that. And the servants aren't likely to come to your rescue, even if they thought you were being taken against your will. Don't fight it, Miss. You have no escape."

She prided herself on accepting the inevitable, and she recognized the truth in his words. For now, for the next few hours, at least, she was entirely at his mercy. She needed to conserve her strength, her energy. Because sooner or later, her chance would come. And Gohan Son would learn firsthand about the fires of hell.

* * *

Prince Vegeta glanced out the carriage window, at the stormy clouds. If he'd had any choice in the matter, he would have stayed at the inn until the weather cleared. But Bulma had been determined to leave, and he'd been just as determined, in his own deceptively indolent fashion, to accompany her. Besides, if the weather had been clear, he would have had very little excuse to ride in the excellently sprung carriage belonging to Bulma's irritating cousin, Tights. Vegeta would have much rather hauled Bulma over his shoulder and fly towards Capsule Hall, but that would have been deemed horribly improper; Eighteen would probably attempt to castrate him too. Bulma knew he preferring flying, and that he detested enclosed spaces like carriages. He would have been hard put convincing her he actually wanted to be immured in a carriage with her for almost ten hours. Not without telling her the truth.

Bulma smiled at him, pushing her teal hair back from her pale face, and he smirked in return. She was one of the few females that weren't intimidated by his strength. Not only that, but she was charming, innocent, alarmingly intelligent, possessed boundless affection for him and he could actually hold an intellectually stimulating conversation with her, unlike many of the other females he'd come across. She was also quite lovely, with her soft curves and rosy complexion. It was some time after Terumi had broken their engagement that he'd first realized Bulma would suit him admirably. Part of that decision had been helped by the knowledge that he wouldn't have to do anything about it for several years. He was a male of strong opinions, likes and dislikes, but prided himself on being a tolerant Saiyan, outside of battle, of course. Things tended to fall into place for him; he'd been blessed with a royal title, a lot of wealth he probably would never use up, a form that females tended to find pleasing, and a prowess for fighting that made him universally appreciated.

Bulma had almost disrupted his well-laid plans. He'd kept an eye on her progress during her first season, ready to step in if some young male came up with an offer, but as he'd expected, many idiotic males didn't have the supreme good taste to appreciate a beauty like Bulma. He also knew many were intimidated by her intellect.

Vegeta's close call with Terumi however, had given him a proper appreciation for the joys of bachelorhood, and he simply hadn't been in any hurry to dispense with its pleasures in exchange for monogamy and duty.

Then that fool Yamcha had crept up behind his back when he wasn't looking. Just when he'd thought he had plenty of time, with Bulma safely ensconced at Capsule Hall, Dr Brief had publicly announced his daughter's engagement.

Vegeta had considered declaring himself at that point, then thought better of it. He prided himself on being somewhat of a decent male, and he'd overheard Dr Brief telling his father that Bulma was head over heels in love. If he'd had any notion that she wasn't quite so enamoured of her little martial artist, he might have done something about it and Yamcha would no longer have been with them. But he took her father's word for it and, after his father's insistence, decided to look elsewhere for a mate. Unfortunately, no one had even come close to Bulma's qualifications, though he would never admit that aloud.

And when that pathetic weakling, Yamcha, had jilted her, she'd taken off to Satan City before he had the chance to make his move. When she returned, she had her friend, the mysterious female chef, in tow, and a new, wary air to her.

Unbeknownst to her, he'd worked damned hard at getting her to relax once more around him. That martial artist had done more damage than Vegeta would have thought possible, and it would take time getting Bulma to come to heel once more.

He had more than enough time, and so did she. She was still only in her mid-twenties, time and enough to provide him with a suitable brood of children, including an heir. If he had any sense at all, he'd give it another year or two.

The problem was, he'd lately been growing impatient. Been wondering whether cohabiting with a good female might not be quite as boring as he anticipated, given that the good female was Bulma. He'd been somewhat distant the last time he saw her, wary that his own restlessness might push him into doing something impulsive. So he'd kept away, biding his time.

But he'd been unable to keep away any longer. Maybe it was past time to become the slightest bit impulsive.

He shifted in his seat again, and Bulma glanced at him. "You hate this," she said. "You shouldn't have insisted on accompanying me, Vegeta. I'm more than capable of travelling without you. Eighteen keeps me very good company."

Vegeta glanced over at Eighteen, now sleeping quietly with her arms crossed. "I would hope my company would be slightly more enlivening," he drawled.

A faint, attractive flush darkened her soft cheeks. "Of course you are, Vegeta. But I didn't want to drag you all over to Capsule Hall in this miserable weather. I just wanted to get home. I know my fears are ridiculous, but I'm not going to rest easy until I know that… that things are all right."

"That your little chef is all right. Videl, that was her name. Why didn't she accompany you in the first place?"

"She's not a servant, Vegeta. She's a friend."

"I disagree; you can't made friends of your servants. Servants have the strongest class sense of any group I know, and it goes against their dignity to be treated like a friend."

"I've told you, she's not like other people. I owe her a very great deal, and it's not something I can easily explain."

Vegeta grunted. "No need to. I'll simply take your word for it."

Bulma looked across at him, quite startled, and he wondered how long it had been since someone simply took what she said without questioning. "Thank you, Vegeta."

She'd make an estimable wife and mother, Vegeta thought absently, watching her. Sweet, protective, well-bred. But he couldn't help wondering whether beneath that gentle, faintly worried expression lurked any capability for passion.

"Everything will be fine," he surprisingly found himself saying. "Gohan will have decamped, the servants will probably have gotten into the port, and your… friend will be wishing she'd had the good sense to accompany you." A sudden, decidedly unpleasant thought struck him, as he remembered certain proclivities, ones he'd never thought Bulma would share. "She is simply a friend, isn't she?" he found himself asking.

Clearly Bulma didn't have the faintest notion what he meant. "What else would she be?" she asked. "We're not related, if that's what you're asking."

"That's not what I was asking."

One thing he found slightly disturbing (and slightly refreshing) was her tenacity. She wasn't a sweet, silky-coated spaniel; she was a terrier gnawing away at a bone. "I still haven't the faintest notion of what you're saying, Vegeta, and I'd wish you'd be more specific. If it involves Videl, I want to know. I'm worried enough as it is. Explain yourself, please."

Vegeta was beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable. "It doesn't concern either of you," he said, hoping she'd let it rest at that. The mutinous expression on her face told him otherwise. He sighed inwardly. If he was going to marry the woman, beget his heirs on her, then he might as well begin her sexual education here and now. "Occasionally, females develop a relationship that is… a bit too intense."

Bulma still didn't appear to understand. "You'll have to be more specific, Vegeta. Videl and I have a very close relationship. What, pray tell, is that matter with that?"

Oh, Lord, he thought. "Occasionally females prefer other females," he said flatly.

"What's the issue what that? I much prefer the company of most women I know to the men I've met. We have more in common, we don't merely have to discuss ridiculous things like hunting and fighting and weapons-"

"I thought you liked weapons," he said, affronted.

"Well, I do. But not to the exclusion of everything else," she said frankly. "So explain, Vegeta. What are you implying?"

Vegeta found himself wishing Eighteen would wake up and put a period to this discussion. The damned woman continued to sleep, and there was no way out of it.

"Certain females prefer not simply the company of other females," he said roughly. "They prefer the bodies of other females."

Bulma sat very still, as the notion sank in. If her cheeks had been flushed with pale colour before, they were now flaming crimson. "You mean they…?"

He nodded once, finally beginning to enjoy himself. "Yes."

"But how… No, don't answer that," she begged.

Vegeta found himself smirking in the dimly lit carriage. "It would be rather difficult to explain," he said, " since you probably don't even understand what goes on between males and females in the first place. Most sheltered females don't."

"I do," Bulma answered, surprising him. "Videl told me."

He didn't waste his time asking how Videl knew. "That sounds like an improper conversation to be having with one's chef," he observed.

"Videl and I aren't proper, we're honest. You were right, most sheltered females don't understand what goes on between males and females. I wanted to know, so I asked Videl."

"You could have asked me." And I would have shown you, Vegeta thought.

She looked up at him then, surprise stripping her face of its colour, but before she could speak, Eighteen chose that miserable moment to awaken.

"Have I missed anything important?" Eighteen asked, dusting her skirts.

Vegeta wanted to snarl. Instead, he leaned back, letting his eyelids droop. "Lady Bulma and I were just discussing the weather."

Miss Eighteen had her virtues, which thankfully included silence. Vegeta closed his eyes, whilst the carriage remained silent. He found he couldn't look at Bulma, or at her shocked expression, for another instant. If he did, he might startle all of them by leaning over and kissing her on her astonished mouth. And it was much too soon to bestir himself.

* * *

Videl felt dizzy, floating, as Gohan Son carried her down the long sweeping stairs at Capsule Hall. She'd underestimated his strength terribly. After their abortive battle, he seemed to have no difficulty at all carrying her out to the carriage, the enveloping cape shielding her from the curious servants. He was right; struggling would avail her nothing. None of the people there would come to her air, even if they knew she was being taken against her will. She did, however, hear a faint thumping near the servants' hall. And while she might break her neck, and quite possibly his, if she managed to wrench herself out of his grip, the chances were just as likely that she'd simply break her leg, subsequently ruining any future chance for escape.

For the moment she remained docile. There was a cold rain falling when he stepped out into the early-morning air, and the bright silk cape was no protection at all. She refused to shiver in his arms.

She refused to do anything as he dumped her in the corner of the carriage, gracefully sitting down opposite her. The hood obscured her vision, and for that much she could be glad. She'd found an unexpected measure of peace at Capsule Hall, and she knew full well she'd never see it again. She didn't want to risk any sentimental weakness by watching it disappear.

That's what had brought her to this sorry pass, sentiment and weakness. If she'd simply taken the dagger in the first place and dispatched Gohan Son, she could have made good her escape before anyone discovered his body.

Failing that, her fatal weakness had been Bee, and that puppy had been her downfall. If she could have stood idly by and watched Bee drink poison, then the demi-Saiyan would have followed suit.

It was a lesson she thought she had learned long ago. Never allow your heart to soften, even for a moment. The most innocent of creatures could engineer your downfall.

The carriage started with a jerk, and she realized that the omnipresent Tien was nowhere to be seen. She shook her head, knocking the hood clear, and stared at Gohan in the murky morning light.

He looked both elegant and dissipated, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his neckcloth slightly awry, and he was watching he with a certain dangerous interest.

"We're on our way," he said, and the unnecessary announcement filled her with forebody. "I don't know how long we'll be on the road this first day, but I imagine we'll have a great deal of time to kill. Let's see how interesting we can make it, shall we?" And he leaned forward, his large frame covering hers, and began to unfasten her gag.

* * *

Thank you for the lovely reviews! I do love to hear your feedback.

-Rhen-chan


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"She can't have gone!" Bulma shrieked, staring at her smugly correct majordomo. Hiro had never been fond of Videl or any other female, and had always disapproved of her position in the household, and there was a faint gleam of triumph in his brown eyes.

"Master Son personally informed me, Lady Bulma, that Miss would be accompanying him on his trip to Parsley City. That she had grown tired of working for a living, and decided there were easier ways to earn her keep." Hiro's pinched expression made it clear that one could expect no less from a female.

"Parsley City," Vegeta said behind her. "Then he mustn't have received word about Sharpener Pencille's demise. Otherwise he'd be headed in the opposite direction."

"There's been no communication from outside Capsule Hall," Lunch spoke up, her mouth pursed in disapproval. "Just a creased, dirty letter for Miss Videl, and that arrived after they took off. I've left it in your room, Lady Bulma. But then, Master Son wasn't in any shape to receive messages."

"Drunk, was he?" Vegeta drawled in unsympathetic tones, coming up beside Bulma.

"No, sir. Sick as a dog. It was a near thing for a while, and I was quite unsure how to handle it. It wouldn't have done for Master Son to have died under your roof. What would people have said?"

"They would have said Gohan Son was thoughtless to the end," Vegeta said.

"Vegeta, they're insisting Videl left with Gohan. That she… she's going to be his mistress. That is what you were implying, isn't it?" Bulma turned back to Hiro with a fierce demand.

Hiro had the good sense to realize his own triumph wasn't boding well with his mistress. He wiped the smug expression off his face, once again the impassive butler. "That's what Master Son and that evil-eyed man of his said."

"But she can't… she wouldn't… not without a word…" To her abysmal shame, Bulma could feel the sudden stinging warmth of tears as they began to slide helplessly down her cheeks.

The three watched her in silence, Lunch and Hiro's smug pleasure long since vanished at the sight of their beloved mistress's misery. Vegeta was the one who took matter in hand, putting his arm around her unhappy figure and leading her toward her withdrawing room with unerring instinct and memory.

He settled her down on the chaise, refusing to let her say a word until Hiro arrived with the sherry, and then stood over her until she downed half the glass and her silent tears had abated slightly.

Vegeta grunted his approval at this, taking his own sherry and sitting opposite her, looking handsome and calm and glorious in her fussy little room. "What's the issue? You've had a long, tiring journey, and I know you were passing fond of the woman, but surely you're becoming much too overwrought."

"Vegeta, I'm more than passing fond. I owe Videl my life, and I can't turn my back on her when she's in trouble."

For a moment Vegeta didn't move. "What makes you think that she's in trouble?" he asked finally. "Why can't you accept the fact that she simply decided there were easier ways to earn her living?"

"Because she knew perfectly well that she had no need to earn her living. I wanted her as my companion, my friend. She was the one who insisted she live belowstairs, that she serve as my chef instead of enjoying life as my dearest friend. I would have denied her nothing."

Vegeta considered the information for a moment. "Perhaps it was a case of love at first sight? Gohan Son is considered a rather dashing figure. She might have overcome her dislike of the male gender."

"Perhaps," Bulma said doubtfully. "You're right about Gohan, he is quite wickedly attractive. I suppose Videl might have fallen in love with him."

For some odd reason her agreement didn't seem to please Vegeta. "I can assure you, far wiser females have fallen under his spell. His amours are neither discreet nor honourable. Love never has much to do with these arrangements."

"Videl would never have run off if she weren't in love. And since they said Gohan was hovering at death's door for most of the time he was here, that didn't give them much time to fall in love."

"Bulma, even if the estimable Videl happened to imagine herself in love with Gohan, I'm certain he was suffering from no such romantic delusions."

Bulma shook her head, clutching her half-finished sherry in her hand. "I don't believe it, Vegeta. I suppose I'm being foolish. I should simply accept the fact; after all, she could hardly have been abducted in broad daylight. But why would she fail to leave me a message, a word of farewell?"

Vegeta's eyes met hers. "Rats, Bulma?" he inquired smoothly.

Bulma had no idea what he was talking about. Before she opened her mouth to retort, she heard it.

The door was pushed open, and Videl's tiny beige puppy bounded into the room with an indignant yip, followed closely by Hiro's grandson, Kyo. He leaped for the puppy, but Bee was too fast for him, hurling himself onto Bulma's silk-covered lap with a plaintive howl.

"Sorry Miss Bulma," Kyo mumbled, and Bulma was surprised to find tears in his large eyes. "Bee got away from me, and I promised Miss Lunch I'd watch over him…"

"Is everything okay, Kyo?" Bulma asked soothingly, beckoning the small boy closer.

At this, Kyo immediately started sobbing. Bulma immediately reached forward and took him into her arms. "Kyo, what's wrong?"

"I d-don't mean to c-cause any trouble, M-Miss Bulma, and Miss L-Lunch will h-hit me if she knew I-I was here, talking to y-you, but Miss V-Videl was so kind to m-me, and I don't think it's r-right that they should j-just let that mean man t-take her away from here w-when maybe she didn't w-want to go at a-all. I tried to s-stop them, but my grandfather t-told one of t-the maids to l-lock me in my r-room and I kept o-on screaming and b-banging on the door, b-but they wouldn't l-let me out. If Miss V-Videl wanted to leave, why would s-she leave B-Bee and m-me behind?"

That sick, burning feeling in the pit of Bulma's stomach exploded, and for a moment she was afraid she might throw up the sherry Vegeta had forced her to drink. "It's okay, Kyo, I'll handle it from here," she said softly. "Could you fetch Michiko for me?"

Kyo nodded slowly and left the room, his small head bowed. Vegeta looked at Bulma questioningly, but she pointedly ignored him. A moment later, someone knocked on the door slowly.

"Come in," Bulma said.

The door opened slowly and a young maid of no more than fifteen entered the room. "You called for me, Lady Bulma?"

Bulma looked at the girl, who often helped her in her labs. She trusted her dearly, though not nearly as much as Videl. "I heard there was a commotion a few days ago. Miss Videl left?"

Michiko tensed, which didn't go unnoticed by Bulma and the Saiyan Prince. "Yes, Lady Bulma."

"What happened?"

"We saw Miss being taken away by that man," Michiko answered. She hesitated. "Miss Videl was nice to me, Lady Bulma. Many of us were thinking that if she wanted to leave with that man, then why would she leave Bee behind?"

"Are you telling me she didn't go willingly?" Bulma asked in a deceptively calm voice.

Michiko was terrified by the seething emotions in the room. "I don't know, my Lady. All I know is that when Miss Videl took Master Son his dinner tray, she didn't reappear, but I heard the sounds of a fight. And while he was wandering around the manor later, I was told I wasn't to go into the room to clear away the dishes. And when I enter, the next morning, the dishes were shattered all over the floor, and the bed was torn up by something fierce."

"I hate to say it," Vegeta drawled from across the room, "but there's a very obvious explanation for that."

"A surfeit of passion?" Bulma shot him a furious glance. "I don't think so. What else, Michiko?"

"I saw them when they left. He was carrying her, my Lady."

"Was she struggling?" Vegeta demanded in a practical voice.

"Not that I could notice," Michiko admitted reluctantly.

"What was she doing in Gohan Son's arms?" He pursued it relentlessly.

Michiko flinched. "I couldn't see all that clearly. She was wrapped head to foot in her ladyship's blue silk cape. It looked like she had her head on his shoulder."

"There you have it," Vegeta said roughly. "She was curled up in her lover's arms, dressed in your pilfered cape. Off on love's young dream, leaving her dog and you behind without a second thought. Trust a servant to do that."

"There are times, Vegeta, when I don't think I care for you very much," Bulma said severely. "It's not that I don't appreciate your accompanying me home in this dismal weather, and your efforts to make me dismiss Videl's disappearance as a freak, but why don't you continue on to the inn? I'm currently unable to provide you with a decent meal, since my chef seems to have decamped, and I find that I'm not in the mood for socialising."

Vegeta rose. "Take the dog back to the kitchens," he ordered, and Michiko scampered to do his bidding.

She paused at the door, clutching the indignant puppy to her chest. "Perhaps I ought to give you this, Lady Bulma," she said, shoving one hand in her cloak's pocket and coming up with a crumpled piece of paper. "Miss Lunch asked me to bring it to her, but since it's from your room, it must be meant for you."

Bulma took the letter in her hand. "Miss Videl Satan," she read. "I thought Videl's surname was Hades. But it's addressed properly."

"Satan," Vegeta said, frowning slightly. "Read it."

"Certainly not!" Bulma said sharply. "That would be dishonourable." She gave Michiko her warmest smile. "Thank you very much, Michiko. You and Kyo have been very helpful. Please go and purchase a few toys for the young boy."

She closed the door behind the maid's little figure, putting the crumpled letter in her own pocket, before she turned to face Vegeta. She knew she'd have a hard time resisting his force of will, but she was determined to do so.

"Bulma," he said, advancing on her, "you will tell me what's going on in that far too devious brain of yours."

She held her ground, but just barely. "Nothing at all, Vegeta. You've pointed out that Videl must simply have taken off for a life of rampant sensuality, but I have decided I see the wisdom of your words. I will miss her, but there's nothing I can do about it." She managed to give him a demure smile.

Vegeta didn't even blink. "Liar," he said flatly. "I've known you for many years, Bulma. You can't lie to me. You're more convinced than ever that she was abducted."

Bulma abandoned all attempts at lying to him. Vegeta knew her far too well. "It's the cape," she said earnestly. "Videl hated that cape. It was a certain unfortunate shade blue-green, with puce trim, and she often told me it should be burned. She was always trying to improve my taste in clothing." Her voice faltered on the last.

"She's not dead, Bulma," Vegeta said slowly. "Even if you'd be wiser to think of her as such."

"I can't, Vegeta. She would never have taken that cape of her own accord, never would have worn it on a romantic assignation. She would have wanted to look her best if she were going off with her lover, not like a… a peacock."

"All right," Vegeta said, "For the sake of argument, suppose Gohan did abduct her? Why? Your majordomo said he'd been ill while he was here. Do you suppose it might have overset his mind? The Sons are notoriously unstable as it is. Do you think he's lost it?"

"I have no idea," Bulma replied stubbornly. "All I know is that Videl didn't go with him willingly."

Vegeta didn't move, didn't even blink. And then he reached out his large hands and dropped them lightly on her shoulders. "You're not going to let the matter rest, are you?"

"Not at all. Videl saved my life. I'm not going to abandon her when she's in trouble."

"She saved your life?" Vegeta demanded, tensing. "When were you ever in danger?"

Bulma shook her head. "It's too complicated to explain. Suffice to say that Videl means a great deal to me. I'm not going to turn my back on her."

"When I leave for Fire Mountain, I shall put out inquiries," he said. "They've been gone at least two days now; your friend has already been compromised, if you think it's a simple question of rape. But I'll find out what I can. There'll be a hue and cry for Gohan as it is, what with Pencille meeting his demise at his hands. Sooner or later he'll be bound to turn up, and Videl can be returned to you."

Bulma did her very best to put a grateful expression on her face. "That would be very kind of you," she murmured in a neutral tone of voice.

"The hell with my supposed kindness. You won't be here waiting for word, will you?" he said wryly. "You're going after them."

She considered denying it. It would be no use. Vegeta was right, he knew her very well indeed, and knew that she wouldn't simply wait for word. "I'm sorry, Vegeta," she said with real honesty. "I simply have to. If you see my father, you can tell him you tried to stop me."

"I have no intention of telling Dr Brief a thing."

"You don't?"

Vegeta grunted. "I won't be anywhere near him to impart that information. I'll be off haring after the fugitives."

Bulma flung herself upon him, her arms hugging him tightly. "I knew I could count on you!" she cried. To her astonishment, his arms came around her, holding her against him for a long, breathless moment.

"Don't forget it," he said, looking at her, and she had the oddest notion that he wanted to kiss her.

Absurd, she thought, as a second later he released her. "I don't suppose there's any chance you might be willing to stay behind while I go after them?" he continued in a dry tone.

"Not a chance in the world. And don't worry about my reputation being compromised. We'll take Eighteen, and your valet, and no one need ever know what we were up to. We'll catch up with them in no time; Gohan would have no idea we'd come after her. He probably assumed poor Videl hadn't a friend in the world."

"It's almost impossible to hide something from an interested society," Vegeta pointed out.

Sudden doubts assailed her. "Oh, Vegeta, I couldn't do that to you," she said. "If you think we'll be discovered, perhaps I ought to go alone. I couldn't bear it if… well, if things transpired that you… that I…"

Vegeta overrode her embarrassed stammering. "I have matters well in hand. Not a soul will hear about this that I don't want to."

She smiled up at him, her eyes shining with grateful tears. She could think of no greater disaster than Vegeta being forced to wed her. But she believed him when he said no one need ever know of their indiscretion. She believed Vegeta capable of just about anything; he was the Saiyan Prince after all.

"I'm going to bespeak a room for the night at the nearest inn," he continued, "Rest now. I'll be here first thing tomorrow morning, and we'll take off after our fugitives."

"I knew I could count on you, Vegeta," she said softly.

She watched him leave, her eyes still msiting with tears. It would take her at least an hour to put together a portmanteau of sturdy, serviceable clothes. Another hour to talk Eighteen into their adventure. In that time she could only hope the rain would have abated. She had a strong dislike of riding in a freezing downpour, and Eighteen would prove downright obstinate.

But they had no other alternative. If she went meekly to bed, Vegeta, true to his word, would go after Videl and Gohan. Leaving Bulma behind to molder and wait.

Which she had no intention of doing. She was going to be waiting for him when he descended the stairs at the nearest inn, and if they didn't find Videl by sunset, at least she'd have Eighteen beside her to satisfy the dictates of propriety.

And she'd have the undeniably treacherous delight of Vegeta's company for at least another twenty-four hours. She could almost be wicked enough to rejoice in Videl's abduction.

* * *

Videl expected they were heading north. Not that her nemesis bothered to converse with her. His valet-cum-bodyguard also served as coachman, so she couldn't even glean information from their casual conversations. But she could see it in the changing landscape even though she'd never been much beyond the insular comforts of Capsule Hall before, and she could feel it in the increasing chill of the spring air.

Spring! These people had little experience with the season. The icy winds and cold rain continued even into the height of summer, and early April might as well be December to Videl's chilled body. In Satan City, the trees would be blossoming. The air would be soft and warm. And the streets would still be stained with the blood of too many deaths.

She was better off where she was, even imprisoned by the man she hated most in this world. His very presence was a tonic. Her hatred for him kept her alive, furious at life and at him. As long as he was in her reach, retribution was still possible. And as long as revenge was possible, life was worth living.

She hadn't been too sure of that when she'd first been immured in that hell-bound carriage with her dissolute nemesis. The early-morning light had barely penetrated into the shadowy interior of the slightly threadbare coach, and his hands against the skin of her cheek were hard, heated, as they deftly untied the neckcloth that had gagged her.

She'd wanted to fight him. Obviously he expected that much from her, and he hadn't moved back, leaning across the carriage, giving her plenty of space to attack him.

"What about my hands?" she said in a small, bitter voice.

"What about them?"

"Are you going to untie them?"

Gohan appeared to consider it. "What guarantee have I that you won't attack me again if I'm fool enough to do so? Your word of honour?"

"I wouldn't give it."

He nodded, and there was a faint gleam of amusement in his dark eyes. "I didn't expect you would. Since I'm not in the mood for another boxing match I think I'll leave you just as you are. Unless you've decided to try to charm me out of my plans."

"What are your plans?"

"I would think you of all people would understand, Miss. You nearly killed me, not simply once, but twice. The first time with that poisonous brew, and I owe you for the two days of the worst misery I've ever endured in a fairly miserable life. The second when you attempted to kill me with your bare hands."

"A miserable life?" Videl countered, trying to control her almost frightening rage. If she gave in to it, all would be lost. "And how, pray tell, has your life been so miserable? Have you starved? Have you been beaten? Have you lost everything dear to you?"

"Have you been starved?" Gohan countered. "Beaten? If you've lost everything dear to you, then where did you spend your life before you came into Bulma's employ? Who are you?"

"In a hostel," Videl said flatly, ignoring the last question.

He took her at her word, a faint trace of derision on his too-handsome face. "It doesn't appear as if you benefitted from the example of piety set before you. Weren't you taught about turning the other cheek? You thirst for revenge seems to suggest otherwise. What is it you imagine I've done to merit such a bloody desire on your part?"

"If you've forgotten your culpability, then I won't waste your time reminding you," she said softly, turning her head away to look outside the window.

Gohan caught her chin in one hard, merciless hand, turning her to look at him. "Refresh my memory," he said just as softly, the steel in his voice a match for the steel in his hand.

She found she had the most absurd weakness, not wanting to remember those awful moments in the garden at her manor. Not wanting to remember her shame, when her innocent adoration had been flung in the mud. To remind him, to reveal herself, would be to remind herself of her own vulnerability, and to remember might be to relive it.

"You'll find," she said in a soft voice, "that I am quite impervious to pain. If you think you'll find out what you want by hurting me, you'll only be wasting your time. Unless you are one of those who receive a certain perverse pleasure in inflicting pain."

For a moment Gohan didn't move. His hand on her face didn't gentle; it still maintained its painful grip. And then his eyelids lowered as he surveyed her. "I have other perverse pleasures," he said softly. "Allow me to demonstrate." And to her shock and horror, he leaned across the carriage and kissed her.

Videl could have withstood a brutal assault, his mouth grinding against her. She could have withstood a rough rape of her mouth, and she was fully prepared to disappear into that quiet place in her mind where no one could reach her.

But she was unprepared for the softness of his lips against hers. The damnable gentleness as he brushed his mouth against hers, feathering it lightly, so lightly that it was a caress. And she hadn't been caressed in more than a decade.

If her hands had been free she would have killed him. As it was she had no choice but to submit. His long fingers were painful on her ace, holding her still for the devastating sweetness of his kiss.

And then Gohan pulled back, releasing her, leaning against the leather squabs of his faintly shabby carriage, and his eyes were speculative beneath his half-closed lids. "They didn't teach you much in your hostel," he murmured. "I'll have to see about improving your education." And without another word, he leaned back into the corner and fell asleep.

Leaving her to watch him in the gradually increasing light of the carriage, her hands and feet still tied, her mouth damp from his, her body shivering with rage and something she couldn't even begin to fathom. Until she finally drifted off into a nightmare-plagued sleep, only to wake and begin the battle again.

* * *

I assure you that the next chapter will definitely be longer.

Thank you for your reviews; they really do motivate me!

-Rhen-chan


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Videl was used to hardship. To cold so deep, so penetrating that you could barely walk for the chilblains on your feet, cold that ate into your bones and shook you from the inside out. She'd lived through horror and the stench of death all around, through starvation and brutality. Being tossed around in an ill-sprung carriage was surely far from the worst she'd ever endured, and even with her wrists and ankles bound so that she couldn't brace herself against the rocking and swaying of the equipage, she told herself she'd survived far worse ordeals than this dismal discomfort.

She told herself that, but she didn't quite believe it. Particularly since those more horrific times had at least been blissfully free of Gohan Son's odious presence.

He slept, oblivious to the bumpings and jarrings of the coach, oblivious to the bone-numbing chill, oblivious to his hostage's misery. He slept so soundly that Videl allowed herself to hope that some errant trace of poison had surfaced to put a period to his existence. Until he started softly snoring.

She kicked him then, swinging her shackled feet across the separating foot of space to knock his ankle. He didn't awake, but the snoring ceased, at least for a while, as he shifted and grumbled in his sleep.

Videl needed to concentrate on something, anything, to keep her mind off the rapidly increasing discomfort of her body. She stared at her nemesis, telling herself it was a wonder that even at ten she'd been so hopelessly besotted. And knowing, even as her hatred simmered, that it was no wonder at all.

At sixteen, Gohan Son had been beautiful. Pale skin, black hair, the dark eyes of an angel. Ten years later, nothing had changed

Females doubtless found him appealing. His body was still lean and strong, his teeth white, his voice a lazy seduction. It would be an easy matter to fashion daydreams about a male of his dangerous attractions. She'd given up daydreams a decade ago. She stared at him across the way, wondering which was more important. Escape? Or killing him?

"Looked your fill?" he inquired in a pleasant enough voice, not bothering to open his eyes.

Which was just was well, since she couldn't control her instinctive recoil. She said nothing, hunching her body back against the seat, waiting.

His eyes slowly opened, and they were completely black. "Next time you kick me," he murmured, "I'll kick you back."

Videl turned her face away from him, staring out the window. It was early afternoon, they'd been on the road since dawn, and it was taking all her concentration to keep her body rigidly upright. She felt uncomfortably dizzy, and that weakness infuriated her.

He leaned forward, too close to her, and she wished she had the energy to spit into that handsome face.

"Any requests?" he asked, his soft voice taunting. "Anything I can do to make your journey more comfortable?"

She turned to look at him, not bothering to disguise the hatred in her eyes. "You can jump out of the carriage."

He smiled then. "Do you not want to ask me to stop the carriage? I'd think that after so many hours, you may be hungry."

She ignored him. If she gave in on one issue, she'd give in on others. She'd sit there, jostled about in the carriage, until she exploded, before she'd ask a favour of him.

Gohan leaned back, watching her intently. "I suppose I can be generous in this matter. Sooner or later, you'll be on your knees in front of me, begging me. I can wait." He leaned forward, past her immobile body, and rapped twice on the roof of the coach.

She wanted to flinch away from his nearness, but she held herself as still as the jostling carriage would allow. "Of course," he drawled, "there are other, more interesting acts you could perform on your knees. I might find I prefer that."

Videl kept her face impassive, willing herself not to launch her body at him in rage. She could do little damage, trussed up as she was. She kept very still, hoping her anger would abate.

"But then a hostel-bred miss like you would have no idea what I'm talking about," Gohan murmured. "Which is just as well. I'm certainly going to enjoy teaching you."

The coach jerked to a rough stop, and Videl's trussed hands couldn't prevent her from hurtling forward across the carriage, falling against him.

He caught her swiftly, and his arms were strong and not ungentle. "Such eagerness, Miss," he said softly. "At least wait until we get into the inn."

She jerked herself away from him, collapsing on the seat opposite him. "We're going to an inn?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly. "Will it not look a little strange if I'm tied up?"

"You won't be," Gohan replied carelessly. "I'm counting on your good behaviour."

"And why should you? I wasn't aware that I had anything left to lose. If I scream for help, perhaps someone will stand up to you…"

"I doubt it," he said lazily. "But by all means, feel free to try. You'll find you have a distinct disadvantage. You're dressed as a servant, and I'm a Saiyan gentleman. We've a class-ridden society. No one would raise a hand against a gentleman to help a peasant."

"Peasant?" Videl echoed, seething.

"Peasant," Gohan repeated firmly. "So I leave it up to you. My advice, not that you'll be inclined to take it, would be to wait until a more opportune moment. If you raise a fuss the moment we stop, who knows when you'll get a chance to eat. And surely if you're patient enough, you could still find an opportunity to murder me."

It was just as well her hands were bound. She would have slapped his smug, faintly bored face. "You're wrong," she said, her voice low and careful.

"About what?"

"I intend to follow your very excellent advice. If I begged for help, the best I could hope for would be to get away from you. I'd much rather kill you first."

"How delightfully bloodthirsty," he murmured. "I knew I could count on you. Hold out your wrists."

"Why?"

He sighed, obviously tired of her questions. "Can't you feel the carriage slowing? We're nearing the inn. I would think you'd want to be able to get inside as swiftly as possible, and I'm being gentlemanly enough to untie your hands first so that you can unfasten your ankles. Trust me, I'd greatly enjoy delving beneath your skirts, but I doubt I'd stop below the knees, and I don't think you would appreciate that."

Without a word, Videl held out her arms, noting absently that they trembled with fatigue. There was nothing she could do about it. She hated to show weakness in front of her enemy, but her body failed her. She would simply have to conserve her strength. Grow stronger still, if she were to have any chance of vanquishing him.

Gohan said nothing about the trembling in her arms. At least he hadn't tied her tightly. Still, the enforced immobility of her arms made them exquisitely painful once they were free, and she muffled a tiny cry of pain as she flexed them.

She reached down for the rope around her ankles, but her fingers were numb, clumsy, and her long skirts kept getting in the way. She could feel Gohan's eyes on her, watching her, with amusement, no doubt, as she fumbled with the knots.

She managed to keep her balance as the coach pulled to a stop, but just barely, and the knots were no closer to being untied.

Gohan leaned down, pushed her hands away, and unfastened the ropes with brisk, competent hands. "You may be in no particular hurry," he drawled, "but I've been too damned long in this carriage as it is."

Tien had already appeared at the door, letting down the steps. Gohan bounded down with restless energy, then reached up a hand to help her, a parody of polite concern on his face.

She had no intention of taking his hand. She had no intention of accepting his help. However, the moment she attempted to climb out of the carriage, her legs collapsed underneath her, and she clung to the nearest thing at hand. Gohan Son.

He scooped her up in his powerful arms, effortlessly enough. "My wife is ill," he said pleasantly as he shouldered his way into the small, shabby inn. "It's her time of the month."

Videl used her elbow, jabbing him beneath his ribs. His hold on her momentarily slipped, and she wondered if she was going to be dropped on the hard wood floor, when his arms tightened again, and she realized he'd been in no danger of dropping her at all. They followed the short, round lady through the dark inn, up a winding flight of stairs to a private parlor. Gohan thrust her into a chair, hard enough to jar her bones, and she gave him a sweet smile.

"Thank you, darling," she murmured in dulcet tones.

The innkeeper beamed at them. "It's not often we have the quality staying with us," he said. "We'll do our best for you, that we will, Sir. The best of food too."

Gohan's smile widened. "My wife is famished," he announced. "In the meantime, perhaps we'll leave her a bit of privacy, shall we, while you mix me up a nice rum punch." He cleared his throat slightly. "There's no back way out of this place, is there?"

The innkeeper was still so bemused by the advent of the upper classes that he didn't find the question the slightest bit odd. "No, Sir. Not from up here. Just the one staircase, I'm afraid. We're a small hostelry, not used to catering to the quality, and I'm afraid…"

Gohan put his arm around the little man's shoulders, steering him from the room adroitly. "Never mind. I just don't want my wife to lose her way if she chooses to leave the quiet of our rooms. I'll be certain to sit where I might command a good view of the stairs."

"You can see the stairs from any seat in the common room," the innkeeper said earnestly.

Gohan looked back over his shoulder, and his smirk was mocking. "Good," he said. "Enjoy your privacy, my beautiful wife."

Videl waited until the door closed behind them before she attempted to walk. Her first steps met with bitter defeat: she sank to her knees on the faded carpet. It took all her strength to pull herself upright, another five minutes before she could reconnoiter enough to find the bathroom.

Once she'd attended her more pressing needs she felt a great deal more human. Until she looked at reflection in the mirror.

Bulma's hideous blue cape was still draped around her shoulders. Her dress was stiff and sticky with the brandy that had been spilled down her front, her hair was tangled around her pale face, and her eyes shone bright with fury. The servants at Capsule Hall wouldn't recognise the quiet, reserved Miss if they could see her now.

She splashed some water on her face, trying to detangle her hair with her fingers. Not that it should matter. What mattered was getting away from Gohan Son before it was too late.

Too late for what? she asked herself. It was already too late for her family, for her mother and father, for her baby brother. It was too late for her, for the innocent she once was. She'd had very little: an uneasy peace and a solid friendship. With Gohan's fateful arrival at Capsule hall she'd lost both, left with the one dark treasure she'd hoarded for years. Vengeance.

She had no intention of making her escape without first sending Gohan to his reward, but she surveyed her surroundings like a general planning a strategic retreat. The casement windows were loose in their frames, the wind rattling them noisily. There were no shed roofs beneath them; if she chose to leave by the window, the fall would likely break her leg.

The parlor was small, drafty; the fire fitful and smoky. The chairs were uncomfortable; the table none too clean; the floor covered with a faded carpet. The adjoining bedroom somehow failed to add to her peace of mind.

Perhaps it was the fact that there was only one bed. A large one, draped with quilts that were quite likely flea-infested. She wondered how Gohan would look covered with fleabites. He'd probably never even seen a flea.

She had. She'd made her acquaintance with all sorts of vermin, from fleas and maggots to rats and the most despicable of all creatures, man. She was afraid of nothing and no one. Except her own weakness.

The maid who entered the front parlor was young, skinny and cheerful, and the tray she carried reeked of grease and overcooked lamb. Videl had to stop herself from sending it away. If she were to prevail she needed to keep up her strength. She hadn't eaten in what seemed like days. Ever since Gohan had arrived at Capsule Hall, her meagre appetite had fled in the face of more devouring concerns.

"Your husband said I was to bring you up a tray, my Lady," she said, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Videl managed a faint smile, sitting down at the table.

"My name is Lime," the girl said, bustling around. "You're to call me if you are in need of any help. They'll be bringing up your trunks in a moment, and then I could bring you some fresh water…"

"I don't suppose I could have a bath?" Videl asked, schooling herself to expect disappointment.

Lime bit the inside of her cheek. "I suppose you could."

"And fresh bedding?"

If she was afraid she'd offended Lime, she needn't have worried. The girl simply looked impressed. "I've hear quality's different than the rest of us," she said, scratching her head. "They like things extra clean."

The dirt under Lime's fingernails looked as if it had been there at least a fortnight. "We're silly that way," Videl said faintly.

"Well then, that's just fine. I'll take care of things, tidy up a bit, and heat the water for you. I don't think there's much of a need to hurry if you want your privacy. Your husband seems settled in the taproom for a good time. Mr Yuki makes the best rum punch, and your husband looks like a man that appreciates a good rum punch."

"I'm sure he does," Videl said lightly, staring down at the congealed grease on her plate.

"He's an extremely handsome man, your husband. Have you been married long?"

Lime might be a cheerful slattern, but she knew where a wedding ring ought to reside, and Videl's thin, bare fingers were in plain sight.

"Not long," she said quietly, picking up the fork.

"Just my luck. We finally have a dashing man come to the inn and he's already taken," Lime said with a sigh.

Videl looked up, and her eyes met Lime's. "Feel free to distract him," she said evenly. "I'd appreciate a night alone."

Lime didn't find the suggestion more than slightly surprising. "He's a very good-looking man," she said again, with a lusty sigh.

"Pretty is as pretty does," Videl murmured. And she applied herself to the fat-encased lamb with stalwart determination.

* * *

The bath was no more than lukewarm, the water cloudy, the soap a rough lye concoction that turned her skin raw and red. The towels were rough, the fire continued to smoke, and Videl knew her first moments of real happiness in longer than she could remember. It took desperation to make one appreciate life, she thought. The finest meal she'd ever had was a thin, tasteless stew, days old, and a cup of rancid coffee on an ice-coated street in Satan City. She hadn't eaten in more than a week at the time, and she'd devoured the stew without pausing to consider the origin of the meat or the length of time it had been sitting in the kettle; eaten it so quickly she'd thrown it all up moments later. And then she'd wept hot, bitter tears for wasting the first bite of solid food she'd seen in ages.

She'd been fifteen years old at the time. That was the day she'd agreed to sell her body on the streets of Satan City. And that was the last day she'd cried.

Draping the reasonably clean blanket around her, she opened the valise Lime had carried up, staring at the jumbled interior in dismay. She knew those colours. The puce, the purple, the lime-green and the startling canary-yellow. Her own wardrobe had consisted of sombre blacks and browns and grays, as befitted an upper servant. The totally unsuitable clothes belonged to Bulma, whose taste ran to the flamboyant. The colours were entirely unsuited to Bulma's lovely rosy complexion, and they'd probably made Videl look ridiculous. Even worse was the fact that Bulma was taller than her; Videl would swim in her clothes.

It was hardly her problem, unless the excessive length of her skirts hampered her getaway. Since Gohan was unlikely to let her escape easily, she'd have more than enough time to cobble up the hems.

The only issue was she couldn't sew. She could bake anything, but she couldn't manage to set a straight stitch. She could remember her mother's mock despair as she surveyed her daughter's needlework…

She slammed the door down on the memory, shocked at the freshness of the pain, the rawness of a decade-old loss. Damn Gohan Son! As if she didn't owe him enough, his presence had set things in motion, memories and feelings that she thought she'd managed to bury long ago. If she hadn't wanted to kill him before, she wanted to now.

There were no nightgowns in the valise. She could always consider it a simple oversight, but she knew she was being optimistic. Whoever had packed the bag, whether it was that weasel Tien or Gohan himself, hadn't thought she needed to be troubled by a night rail.

Gohan's valise had made an appearance as well. Feeling no compunctions whatsoever, she opened it, pulling out one of his beautiful cambric shirts and putting it on, letting the blanket drop to the floor. It hung to her knees; the sleeves dangled well below her fingertips, and it was the softest, most elegant thing she'd worn in years. She was half-tempted to rip it off her body, but her choices were not appealing. Bulma's clothes were fancy, scratchy, hardly fit for sleeping. Her own dress was sticky and stiff from the spilled brandy, and she could stand the thought of putting it back on. And Bulma's fine lawn undergarments were far too revealing.

No, Gohan's shirt would have to do. If she was going to end the night in a battle, it would provide as much protection as anything she had with her.

The hours passed; long, empty hours. Lime returned and had the hip bath removed, took the tray with its half-eaten meal, and wished her a good evening. Videl almost wished her good hunting in return. If only Gohan were drunk enough to fall for Lime, she could have a decent night's sleep to gather her strength back around her. She wasn't in any condition to fight him off. And she had no doubt whatsoever that that was what Gohan had in mind.

She could always submit. In the end, it was probably what she'd have to do. She'd learned the trick of closing her mind and ears, and letting her dreams soar out into the clouds, while some man hunched and panted and sweated over her body. She'd distanced herself and survived.

But a small, nagging little part of her wondered whether she could be just as efficient distancing herself from the devil incarnate who'd abducted her. The man who looked like an angel from hell.

* * *

Gohan was thoroughly inebriated. He considered stopping. The landlord's punch was a fine one, redolent of cinnamon and nutmeg and rum, but he'd never been excessively fond of rum punch. The serving girl, Lime, was skinny and obviously willing, brushing her small breasts against him every chance she got. Tien had already closed his eyes and sunk back against the settee, and would probably awake six hours from now, stiff and sore and blessed with a colossal headache.

The landlord would provide an alternate bed that he could share with the girl, if he gave any inclination that he was interested. But he wasn't. He was, however, interested in another bed. The creature upstairs was a murderous harridan, doubtless a virgin, blessed with a supple body and a wasp's tongue. Besides which, she wanted to kill him.

But he couldn't keep his mind off the female upstairs. He could always go upstairs and bed her. Then she'd possess no doubts at all about what an unregenerate monster he was. He'd tied her up, abducted her, taunted her. Surely there was no need to stop there. He'd never hesitated in the single-minded pursuit of his sensual pleasures before.

But he'd never taken a female by force either, and he had no doubts at all that with the little chef, it would be force. For some oddly quixotic reason, he didn't want to brutalize her. At least, he told himself coolly, not tonight.

And he definitely didn't want to avail himself of the serving girl either. She smelled of the lamb she'd served, and while he had no doubts at all that he'd enjoy her enthusiasm, he simply didn't want her. An unsettling state of affairs, and one he could thank Bulma's chef for.

He rose on surprisingly steady feet, picking up the half-empty brandy bottle. "Time to join my wife," he announced.

Lime pouted. "She's probably asleep by now," she said boldly. "And didn't you say it was her time of the month?"

Had he really been crass enough to announce that? Probably. He smiled with sweet drunkenness. "Us Saiyans don't allow such things to bother us," he drawled. "She's still beautiful."

That seemed to say enough. The serving girl disappeared into the kitchen with a sullen set to her shoulders, but he'd be surprised if she didn't decide to wake Tien up for a bit of fun.

The stairs were too damned dark and narrow, but he managed to make it up there without spilling a drop of his precious brandy. The fire in the front room had burned down low, and there was no sign of the chef. She had to be in the bedroom beyond. Was she waiting for him, lying in the bed, nude and ready? Was she standing behind the door with a knife, prepared to unman him?

He pushed the door open cautiously.

* * *

Just a quick chapter dedicated to my younger sister as it's her birthday today; she was continuously badgering me to upload it. Happy Birthday, S! Hope this cheers you up on your way to your afternoon lecture!

Apologies for deleting it last night - I just wanted to include Gohan's point of view as my sister's his number one fan. ^_^

I'm extremely grateful for the reviews!

Please do let me know what you think!

-Rhen-chan


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

The firelight illuminated her pale face, and he had no doubt whatsoever that she was sound asleep. She looked too small, lying in the middle of that big bed, the covers drawn up to her chin.

Gohan backed out of the room, leaving the door open, and went to sit by the fire. From his vantage point, he could still see her, lying in the bed, and he told himself he had to keep an eye on her in case she woke up and decided to push him into the fireplace or something equally unpleasant.

He drank out of the bottle, letting the fiery liquid burn its way down his throat. And he knew he was lying. He wanted to watch her as she slept. Because he wanted to pretend that everything was okay in his life; that it was around ten years ago, before the world had gone mad.

Before he had lost his soul completely.

* * *

Prince Vegeta didn't sleep well. The inn provided a decent enough repast, the beds were clean and well-aired, the cellar tolerable. Normally he would sleep like the dead, waking up at his customary nine o'clock to start his day with an hour of training.

He knew he didn't possess that luxury. He needed to be off by dawn if he was going to leave without Bulma joining him. Not that there weren't decided advantages to having her along. For one thing, he had no guarantee that the mysterious Videl would prefer his protection to that of Gohan Son. Even assuming she had gone unwillingly, and he was by no means convinced of that, she might have come to terms with her abductor. Particularly since Gohan would probably attempt to keep her in a style to which she could easily grow accustomed, and Vegeta had no interest in her dubious charms at all. He found he had no taste for female chefs; he preferred female scientists.

He'd been completely truthful when he'd told Bulma that no one would find out if she accompanied him, if he didn't want them to know. If he had been forced to take her with him, he would have made sure exactly those people necessary had found out; those people necessary to enforce a speedy marriage. It would cut through a great deal of bother. Bulma, for all her matter-of-fact good nature, was a dreamy romantic at heart. If he wanted to wed her, and he most definitely did, he'd be forced to go through some ridiculous sham of a courtship, and he simply didn't have the energy for it. He wanted his comfortable life, with an intelligent and undemanding spouse like Bulma to make sure his home was run properly, his estates were crawling with heirs, and his marital duty was impossibly onerous. It had taken him a while to come to the decision that Bulma would suit him, but once that decision had been made, there was no swaying him from his purpose.

No, a forced marriage had definite advantages, not the least of which would be Bulma's feelings of guilt and gratitude. It would keep her from making impossible demands if she felt she'd forced him into it.

On the other hand, he liked her enough not to wish her the burden of guilt and gratitude. And there was always the outside chance that he might just enjoy her impossible demands.

No, better to do it in a straightforward manner. Go after the miscreants, fetch Videl back, and come up with a reasonable offer for Bulma's hand. If she demanded it, he supposed he could even manage to court her a bit. After all, there was something rather delicious about her smile.

His man, Nappa, woke him at five in the morning with a mug of warm porter and the large tray of food that almost made such an indecent hour acceptable. He showered in record time, tying the most basic of cravats, allowing Nappa to shave him between sips of the beer, and surveying his brightly polished hessians with a grunt. The rain had abated, but even in the slowly lightening morning sky, he could see the clouds hovering, ready to descend once more. He was not in the mood for a jaunt to Parsley City.

Unfortunately, that was where Gohan had chosen to take his absconded female. Not that he had much choice. Assuming Gohan still thought Sharpener Pencille would recover, he knew he'd be persona non grata in Fire Mountain. People tolerated a great deal from someone of Gohan's dubious charms, but this time he'd gone too far, and the demi-Saiyan had the sense to lie low.

Unfortunately, the Son estates were mostly gone, sold to pay gaming debts. His father's manor in Bridgetown had been the last to go, which left only a small manor house in Gingertown and a hunting lodge in Parsley City.

According to the servants at Capsule Hall, Parsley City had been their eventual destination. It could be damned cold there this time of year, and absolutely dead of company. Vegeta had every intention of getting up there as fast as he possibly could, fetching Videl, willing or not, and haring back to Capsule Hall.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Gohan Son might challenge him to a duel.

Gohan had certainly fought enough of them to have developed a taste for them. Vegeta only trusted that he wasn't likely to want to kill an opponent twice within a month.

* * *

The carriage was waiting out front, the horses well-fed and rested, Nappa and the driver perched on top, awaiting Vegeta's arrival. He didn't like the thought of being immured in a carriage for another few days, particularly without Bulma's company, but he accepted his fate with a grunt. If this was the way to win the proper wife, then he supposed he could make the sacrifice.

Nappa was about to dismount and open the door for him when Vegeta waved him back to his perch. "I can manage," he said, climbing into the carriage and settling back heavily, swiftly pulling the door closed after him. It was dark in the interior, the predawn light filtering in, but there was no question that he was far from alone. He looked across, directly into Bulma's large blue eyes.

"I thought I'd save you the trouble of having to fetch me," she said lightly.

For the first time in his life, Vegeta was too dumbfounded to say a word. Eighteen sat beside Bulma, asleep as usual, and even his intended mate looked a bit weary.

"Very thoughtful of you," he drawled finally, as the coach started smoothly. "Been waiting long?"

Bulma yawned, far too tired to make any pretence at covering it. "Awhile," she admitted. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget your promise."

"My promise?"

"To take us with you. We won't be any trouble, Vegeta, I promise you." She leaned forward, suddenly intent, and he could smell her natural scent; innocent, sweet and flowery. "Please don't take us back."

It was exactly what he'd intended. It was the pleading in her eyes and her scent that changed his mind. "I promised, did I?" he said. "A Saiyan never breaks his word. You'll behave yourself Bulma, and do exactly as I tell you."

"Of course," Bulma agreed eagerly.

For a brief moment, Vegeta wondered what she'd say if he ordered her to put her arms around him and kiss him. He wouldn't, of course. He'd accepted his responsibility, and in doing so, made it impossible for him even to suggest something improper.

So he simply tilted his head at her, keeping his arms crossed. "I'll take you at your word."

"We'll find her, won't we, Vegeta?" Bulma asked, her pale face creased with worry. "Gohan won't really hurt her, will he?"

"I can't imagine why he would. Any more than I can imagine why he'd abduct her in the first place. You're certain…?"

"Certainly," Bulma said firmly. "She never would have left with him willingly. I have great faith in you, Vegeta. We should have her safe by nightfall."

"Considering they have a two days' head start, you're being slightly optimistic," Vegeta drawled. "But we'll find them as soon as we can."

"I know you will. You know, Vegeta," she said, her blue eyes sparkling in the murky light, "we're going on a splendid adventure."

Vegeta thought longingly of his comfortable bed in Fire Mountain, his personal training room, his sybaritic pleasures, compared to life on the road with a pair of females. "Splendid," he echoed faintly. And he wondered how long it would take him to get rid of Bulma's chaperon.

* * *

She could smell the fire. Hear the flames licking through the old wood structure, the screams of the servants still trapped inside. The roar of the angry mob, demanding vengeance, taking it on innocent people as they hauled her parents away.

Videl had stood on the edge of the forest, Lucifer's hand clasped in hers, too numb to worry about whether they would be seen or not, as her manor, home to the Satans for three hundred years, burned to the ground.

Her mother's clothes were ripped half off her body as she was shoved and mocked. Her father was bleeding from a gash in the side of his head as he stumbled after his wife, helpless to protect her. And in the background, the screams from the servants trapped inside her home, the smell of the fire, the stench of burning flesh, the horror that left the two children rooted to the ground, until sanity finally prevailed and Videl tugged her brother into the woods, away from the horrific sight.

At least her parents weren't dead. They hadn't been butchered, or left inside the burning manor to die a hideous death. She'd heard the crowd shouting something about Satan City. If her parents survived that long, they would be taken and tried. There was little doubt as to their eventual fate. Dr Gero's guillotine had already begun its foul work, and hundreds of pyres were constructed.

But as long as they were alive, there was still hope. And Videl was young enough then to nourish that hope, for her younger brother's sake as well as her own.

The trip to the heart of Satan City was an endless nightmare. Her satin embroidered slippers, made for nothing more strenuous than dancing on the parquet floors, were shredded by the second day. Lucifer was sullen and weeping, unwilling to understand the catastrophe that had overtaken their lives, instead demanding his nursemaid, Haine, and his tutor.

Mr Shigure had been trapped inside the burning manor; Videl had seen him illuminated in a flame-filled window. And sweet, maternal Haine had walked behind her mother, shoving her into the dirt when she stumbled.

Videl traded their silk clothes for rough peasant garb and some stale bean bread and cheese on the morning of the second day. Lucifer complained that the rough cloth hurt his skin, the wooden shoes hurt his feet, and his stomach was empty. Videl controlled her sisterly temper and promised him bonbons when they reached their uncle's house in the centre of Satan City, daifuku if he was silent when they hid from the roving bands of angry peasants, and new silk clothes if he could just walk another few steps.

It took them a week to reach the centre of Satan City, a fifteen year old and a ten year old, and two greater innocents had never been on the streets. But the time they reached their uncle's elegant town house, his body hung from the lamppost outside.

Videl shuddered, trying to block the memory from her sleep-drugged mind. She hated the nightmares, hated reliving the past. Why couldn't she remember the happy times, the years at her manor, her parents smiling at her, her little brother innocent and warm and loving? Why did she always remember death and despair?

"Bad dreams, Miss?" a familiar voice drifted in from the front room. For a moment Videl was disorientated, knowing that deep voice, for a brief, mad instant welcoming it. And then she remembered where she was, and who held her prisoner.

She sat up in the lumpy bed, breathing a quiet sigh of thanks that she had slept alone. It was morning, a sullen light filtered in the windows, presaging another grey, rainy day. "It is my present existence that is the nightmare," she said.

She should have known better than to goad him. She could see him by the fire, sprawled in the chair, an empty decanter beside him. She watched as he rose, graceful, lethal, and came toward the open door.

She wanted to pull the covers up to her shoulders, but she resisted the impulse. If she gave him any sign that he unnerved her, he would use that knowledge. He already had most of the weapons in their unholy battle; she wasn't going to put another in his long, elegant hands.

He stopped at the doorway, lounging negligently. He needed a shave and fresh clothes; he needed a decent night's sleep and abstinence from the brandy decanter. Videl watched him, keeping her face completely blank, and wondered how long this was going to keep on.

"What do you want from me?" she asked abruptly, aware of the fact that this was hardly the best time to confront him. Not while she sat in bed dressed in nothing more than one of his fine cambric shirts.

Gohan simply smiled a small, cool smile. "What do you think I want?" he countered.

She forced her hands to remain still on the coverlet. "I won't make the mistake of thinking you want me," she said calmly. "You certainly don't have to abduct women if you're desirous of a tumble, and I'm certain a willing female would be greatly preferable."

"Usually," he agreed, not moving from his spot in the doorway.

"So that leaves revenge. But it would have been much simpler to turn me over to the local magistrate. If it were your word against mine, they would of course have taken your word."

"Perhaps. Unfortunately my reputation is not unknown around Capsule Hall. They might just possibly have believed you after all. Not that there was much you could have said. You did try to poison me, didn't you?" He sounded no more than casually interested.

"I did."

Videl half-expected him to react with rage. Instead, the narrow smile reached his hypnotic eyes. "I rather thought you'd admit it," he said. "And I suppose that would have been the honourable thing to do. Hand you over to the local authorities and go on about my merry way. The issue is, the local authorities might very well have decided that anyone who attempted to kill me probably had just cause."

"If they had any sense," Videl answered flatly.

"And I couldn't have that, now could I? Because if they chose to let you go, even treated you as a heroine as certain outraged fathers might, then you'd turn up again, wouldn't you? You're not going to simply accept defeat and promise never to come near me again. You're not going to rest until you manage to stick a knife between my ribs."

"Oh, I don't know. I could always shoot you," she said.

"That would require a certain knowledge of firearms, which I doubt you possess."

Videl said nothing. Her knowledge of weapons was not extensive, despite Bulma's numerous tours of her labs, but she had no doubt whatsoever that she could manage to blow his head off at twenty paces, given half the chance. "Or there's always poison," she added.

"Indeed," he said, moving into the room with that graceful indolence. "So I intend to keep you by my side until I figure out a way to render you harmless."

"The answer is obvious," she replied, watching him carefully. "You could kill me. Then I wouldn't trouble you again."

He sat down on the foot of the bed, lifting his long legs to stretch them out beside her. She didn't squirm away, much as she longed to, and she could feel the heat of his leg against her body. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said lazily. "I don't believe they hang the upper classes, but in my case, they'd probably be willing to make an exception."

"You might get away with it."

He looked at her, and while a smile hovered on his sensual mouth, there was cold bleakness in his dark eyes. "And then I'd have your ghost to haunt me. No, thank you. I have enough ghosts, enough regrets in my life to last me a lifetime. I prefer you alive and brimming with hatred. I prefer watching my back to peace of mind. Particularly since I wouldn't recognise peace of mind if I were ever so blessed as to receive it." He leaned forward across the bed, and his long fingers touched her silky hair. "Besides, Miss, you don't really want to die, do you?"

Videl stared at him, feeling the warmth of his fingers so close to her face. It had been four years since she stood alone on the small bridge in the heart of Satan City, ready to hurl herself into the icy, murky depths of the river. Four years since she had turned her back on death, and chosen life instead. Chosen the pain of going on over the sweet oblivion that had beckoned.

She glanced down at his hand. There would be certain satisfaction in meeting death at those white, elegant hands. Hands that had been responsible – from a safe, clean distance – for the death of her family, the death of her innocence. It was only right that he learn to bear the final responsibility.

His hand moved up to her exposed throat, and there was steely strength in his fingers. "I could, of course, change my mind," he murmured. "It wouldn't take much to snap your neck. Such a small, frail neck."

Videl didn't blink, didn't move as his fingers tightened painfully. "Do it," she said softly, waiting for death.

"I rather think I will," he said. And he put his mouth on hers, kissing her with a quick brutality that left her stunned and bruised.

And alone. Before she could gather her scattered wits, Gohan was strolling out of the room. Her lips stung, swollen and deep red from that harsh kiss. Her throat felt raw and painful, and her soul felt lost, shaken. He slammed the door behind him, and she sat without moving. As she realized the pain in her throat came from the tightness of unshed tears, not from the strength of his fingers.

He rode outside the carriage that day, and the next. The bedroom he bespoke was for her alone; he didn't even share her meals. She should have been grateful for the reprieve.

Instead, Videl's anger grew. He was simply torturing her, putting off the inevitable reckoning. And since she wasn't sure what that reckoning would be, her nerves were stretched to the limit.

But the third morning of the journey, she knew she could bear no more. She was tired of waiting for the axe to fall, tired of sitting alone in an ill-sprung carriage, in a shabby inn, staring into the fire, with no company but her memories. She was determined to have it out with him.

She dressed quickly in the early morning light, in Bulma's oversized cambric chemise and drawers, in the least offensive of the day gowns Tien had packed, tucking the loose waist inside itself to shorten it to a manageable length. And she went off in search of her jailer.

The common room was deserted at that hour. No one was in sight, neither the landlord nor his portly wife, the maids nor Gohan's miserable servant. She moved silently through the darkened room, into the kitchen, where at last she found signs of life.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss." The young scullery maid turned from the stove, her face red from exertion. "Would you like something? I can make you breakfast if you'd like."

"I don't suppose you have any coffee?" she asked wistfully, putting her more desperate needs aside for the moment. She developed a taste for it after seeing her father drinking it every morning at breakfast, and she hadn't had a taste of it since Gohan Son had hauled her away from Capsule Hall.

"No, Miss. I could make you some tea."

Videl shuddered. "Nothing for the moment, thank you. I'm looking for…" her voice trailed off as she wondered what in the world she could call the man who'd absconded with her. She knew for a fact that he'd given a false name before they entered the inn, though she couldn't imagine why. He couldn't be afraid someone would come in search of her. No one, apart from an essentially powerless Bulma, would care.

"Your brother" the girl filled in helpfully.

"My brother," Videl agreed, secretly aghast at the thought. Though she and Gohan had black hair and pale skin, there all resemblance ended. Gohan Son was an amoral, murdering devil. She was an avenging angel.

Well, perhaps angel was going a bit too far, she thought with the first trace of humour she'd felt in days. She managed a wry smile. "Where is he?"

The girl's face reddened further, and this time it was from embarrassment as well as from the heat of the fire. "I really can't say, Miss. I can get him for you…"

"I can find him myself," Videl replied firmly. "If you'll tell me where he is."

"I can't…" she said again.

Videl crossed the small kitchen. She was small, shorter than the serving girl, dressed in ridiculously long clothing, but her will was ten times stronger. "Where is he?" she said again, and there was no denying her.

"He's in the bedroom down the hall. Second door, Miss. But he's not alone."

"I didn't imagine he was," Videl said dryly, following the girl's directions.

She didn't bother knocking on the door. She opened it, fully prepared to discomfit Gohan as he romped with one of the serving girls, fully prepared to launch into her well-rehearsed speech.

Instead she stood there, shocked into silence, as a thousand unexpected emotions washed over her.

He was asleep. Lime, however, was staring at her with a mixture of wariness and defiance. Gohan lay on his stomach, shirtless, and the rose damask cover that must have been borrowed from one of the rooms upstairs was tangled around his waist. Videl stood in silence, surveying the line of his broad back, her muscled arms splayed carelessly at his sides.

The room smelled like a bordello: it smelled like cheap perfume and sweat and sex. Videl stood there for a moment longer, remembering those smells, and then she turned on her heel, failing to notice that Lime was fully clothed, and left, closing the door silently behind her.

She had no idea where the privy was. Instead, she dashed outside, into the chilly morning air, ending on her knees in the kitchen outside, losing what little she had in her stomach.

It was an eternity later when she finally sat back, still and shaken, both by her bout of nausea and by her shame. She hadn't expected to be vulnerable, ever again. But the smell of the room, the sight of Gohan Son's beautiful back, the pile of gold coins on the rough table beside the bed, had come together to undo her completely. It brought back a past she thought she'd managed to bury. Other rooms. A pile of coins. But it had never been Gohan Son's body beside hers.

So distraught was she that she didn't hear the noise in the inn yard. The sounds of voices, the stamp of horses, the jingle of the bridles and the calls to make haste. It wasn't until she stumbled back into the suddenly lively kitchen that she realized the inn was awake, awash with new customers.

She moved through the kitchen, half-afraid Gohan would suddenly appear, but clearly he slept on, oblivious to his unhappy witness. The common room was filled with half a dozen weary travellers, doing the best to squeeze in a hearty breakfast before the public coach continued northward. Videl paused in the door of the common room as the first tendrils of hope washed over her. At the blackest moment of her life, there was suddenly a chance of rescue.

It was arranged in a matter of moments. There was room in the coach heading north to Gingertown, if Miss were set to travel and if she came equipped with the ready.

She knew real terror as she raced upstairs to her room, half-expecting to find Gohan waiting for her. There was no sign of him. No sign of any money either.

She threw a few of the least offensive clothes in a valise, then headed back downstairs and out into the inn yard. She couldn't very well go back to Lime's room and rifle through Gohan's breeches for the requisite zenny. Therefore, Tien was her obvious answer.

He was asleep in the carriage, an old blanket pulled up around his thick neck. For a moment she hoped he slept soundly, dulled by whiskey and porter, but when she slowly opened the carriage door, he was awake, and staring at her in sleepy surprise.

Videl took advantage of his momentary disorientation. "It's half past nine," she said sternly. "Master Gohan is ready to depart."

Tien stumbled forward, out of the carriage, before he had time to realize that it was much too dark for half-past nine, and that Videl would hardly be passing messages. By the time he turned, realizing his mistake, Videl slapped him hard across the face, before aiming a swift, yet sharp punch at his jaw, knocking him down. She then brought one of his empty glass bottles down over his head, shattering it into pieces on the ground, for good measure.

Tien lay in a heap, and she wondered briefly whether she'd managed to kill him. She hoped not. For all that he was her enemy, he was merely doing his master's bidding. Her hatred and murderous intent were still reserved for Gohan.

Ten minutes later, she was tucked into the middle seat on the overfull coach. They started with a jerk, taking off into the early-morning light, and Videl held her breath, listening for the cries of rage when someone discovered Tien's body hidden behind a clump of bushes, or when Gohan roused himself from the female's bed. But there was no sound, save for the sound of the carriage, the jingle of the reins, the pounding of the hooves, as she was carried away from her last hope of vengeance.

* * *

Gohan Son had always prided himself on his truly ugly temper. He had no compunctions about inflicting it on anyone when the rages came upon him, and he gained a certain measure of satisfaction at seeing strong men, both Saiyan and human, move back a step or two.

He didn't even mind frightening females, which just went to prove how far from being a gentleman he really was, he thought, lying in the servant's bed and watching the wariness and rejection in her eyes. He remembered her leading him into the room after he drunkenly requested a separate bed, before attempting to join him, something that he didn't take too kindly to. After training non-stop for the past two nights to relieve his frustrations, he believed he deserved his rest.

The door closed behind her. He glanced over at her bedside table, at the pile of coins left by her previous companion, no doubt, before sitting up in bed, disdaining the rose coverlet, and trying to ignore the pounding in his head. Immediately, the feeling of guilt hit him.

Though why he should feel guilty was a complete mystery. Just as mysterious was his sudden hatred for the skinny serving girl who'd attempted to entertain him so enthusiastically the night before. Gohan was a man who despised introspection, but he despised stupidity even more. And he knew perfectly well it wasn't the servant he hated, but himself.

The washbasin and pitcher were of a higher quality than was usually found in a serving girl's bedroom, just as the damask coverlet was. Clearly she'd been expecting his company. At least he was able to wash his sweaty body with the cool water and soap. He wished he could cleanse his mind as easily.

The kitchens were in an uproar when he strolled through, the servants cleaning up the remnants of a large breakfast, but the common room was blissfully deserted. He sank down in front of the fire, accepting the mug of porter from the landlord's hands and staring into the bright flames.

"Erm… chilly morning, Sir," the landlord announced uneasily.

Gohan ignored him. The man probably wanted something for the serving girl's supposed favours, but Gohan wasn't in the mood. Particularly since he never indulged in the first place.

"The mail coach just came through," the little man continued, undaunted, and Gohan took a meditative sip of the warm brew, wishing it were coffee. He'd have to have the resourceful Tien make him some if he had any hope of surviving the next few hours.

"It wasn't full this time of the year," the landlord pushed doggedly onward, and finally Gohan turned to stare at him out of hooded, unnerving eyes. Why did all landlords seem the same, no matter what the size of their inn, the class of their clientele, the area of the country? He'd met the same nervous, obsequious little man a dozen times over during the last few years. It made it damned hard to remember where he was.

"How fascinating," Gohan finally responded in withering tones. "Is there a reason behind this discourse?"

If the man had been wearing a hat, he would have snatched it off his head and crushed it beneath his small, nervous hands. As it was, he had to make do with simply wringing those none-too-clean appendages. "Yes, Sir."

Gohan waited. He was too tired, too angry, and still a bit cupshot to make the obvious mental leap. And then it was more than clear. "The mail coach," he said blankly.

"Yes, Sir. It was full when it left here, about half an hour ago."

Gohan surged upward, knocking the half-finished mug of porter into the fireplace with a roar of fury. He took the steps three at a time, but there was no doubt that he'd find an empty room.

He stood in the middle of the room, cursing viciously. He heard the unsteady footsteps mount the stairs, and a distant part of his mind decided that his current innkeeper must be a different breed of man, to have so little regard for his own safety. Gohan Son was a very dangerous Saiyan at that moment.

"She escaped, didn't she?" Instead it was Tien's voice intruding on his bloody-minded rage. Gohan turned to lash into him, and then stopped, as a reluctant trace of amusement lightened his fury.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day that a female got the better of you," he said, surveying his valet's bruised face, bleeding head and dishevelled appearance.

"Neither did I," Tien said grimly. "She's no ordinary female. She slapped me, punched me, and then bashed me on the head with something, and then she must have dragged me into the bushes. I don't know how long I lay there. She's strong for such a little person."

Gohan remembered their full-blown battle in Bulma's salon, just after he'd begun to recover from the effects of the poison she'd administered to him. "She is, indeed. She's got a half-hour head start on us, Tien. Have you put the horses to?"

"They're ready and waiting," Tien replied, smirking.

"Then pay off our incompetent innkeeper and gather up our luggage. I'll handle the ribbons. The day won't come when I can't catch up with a mail coach." He glanced once more at the deserted bedchamber. "Damn her eyes," he said. "And damn the rest of her, as well."

* * *

I know I should have waited… But I was pretty eager to get this one up - I miss my B/V moments!

Please let me know what you think?

-Rhen-chan


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

"You aren't going to be sick, are you?" the large, red-haired woman smelling of goose-fat inquired in a distinctly unsympathetic tone of voice.

Videl considered informing the female that if she had at least a passing acquaintance with soap and water, the air in the enclosed coach might be somewhat more bearable, but she decided against it. The situation would also be improved if someone opened a window to let the fresh, cool air in, or if she could trade seats and not ride backward, something that had never agreed with her.

But she simply said, "No," in a voice that encouraged no further questions.

She knew what an odd sight she made. A small female in oversized, overbright clothes, travelling alone on a public coach was a dangerous anomaly. Videl clasped her hands together in an effort to stop them from shaking; there was no denying that she very nervous indeed.

She didn't know how much of a head start she had on Gohan. She had no doubt he'd come after her. He wasn't a male who liked to be bested, and even if he'd tired of his game of cat and mouse with her, he wouldn't be likely to allow her to escape. A reasonable male would see it as the best possible outcome of an impossible situation. But Gohan wasn't a reasonable male.

The next stop was Bridgetown. She'd never been there, but surely it was a large enough city that she could disappear into it. She was more than adept at fading into the filth and turmoil of a crowded population, and Bridgetown had the added advantage of being a port city. She could always find passage off this island, well out of reach of Gohan Son's revenge. West City was no longer home to her, a fact she had accepted with bittersweet regret. Her short-lived haven had vanished.

Gohan would be quite out of her reach too. It was just as well. The longer she was with him, the less certain she was of her ability to extract that revenge she'd dreamed of for so long. It wasn't any weakness of feeling for the demi-Saiyan. He was a conscienceless bastard, a smiling, damnable villain, and her feelings toward him hadn't softened in the slightest. They were still a solid mass of hatred.

But in other ways she'd weakened. She'd slept too many nights in warm, clean beds, with abundant food and warmth, even a friend to talk with. Those things brought back civilization to her battered soul. A civilization that might very well keep her from cold-blooded murder, no matter how much she longed to administer the justice he deserved.

Videl was better off admitting defeat. Her own defeat, at her own hands, not his. Only a few more hours until they arrived at their next stop, and she'd be out of his reach forever.

She closed her eyes, longing for the merciful oblivion of sleep. Her stomach was roiling, with her tension and the upsets of the transportation. If she could only pass the next few hours in sleep…

"What are we speeding up for?" a disgruntled fellow traveller demanded. "The coach is travelling too quickly as it is. Here you…." He opened the window, letting in a blessed blast of fresh air, and shouted at the driver. "Slow down, fellow!"

"Some flash cove is trying to overtake us," the goose-fat lady announced, opening her own window to peer behind them. "He's driving fit to beat the devil. He'll run us off the road at this rate, that he will, and we'll all be killed!"

Panic erupted in the carriage, all the passengers shrieking and talking at once, but it was nothing compared to the silent panic in Videl's heart. She knew who was coming up on the mail coach, driving like a madman. And for one brief second she had her own moment of madness, wondering, if she flung herself from the carriage whilst it was moving at such a rapid pace, whether she might cheat Gohan of his triumph after all.

But she was crammed in the middle of four burly passengers, far from the door. And if she hadn't ended her life many years ago, she wouldn't let Gohan Son drive her to it now.

She clenched her fists in her lap, the swaying of the coach knocking her back and forth between the other passengers. Their driver seemed to show no inclination to be overtaken, and there was always the outside chance that he might outrun Gohan. That Gohan might overturn his own carriage in his haste to catch up with them. Miracles could happen. They just didn't happen to her.

"He's gaining on us!" the goose-fat lady shrieked, turning to cast an accusing gaze at Videl. "And we can all guess who he's after. You'll bring us all to our death, that you will, young lady, with your hoity-toity airs."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Videl protested faintly.

"You're his mistress, aren't you?!" Goose-fat screeched. "Stop the carriage, before we're all killed!"

In the end, it was a moot point. Gohan's shabby travelling coach was built for speed, despite its decrepit appearance and it pulled even with the more cumbersome mail coach just as they were nearing a bend in the road.

Suddenly, the coach shot forward. Videl had to hold her arms in front of her, to avoid hitting her face on the seat in front of her.

"He just pushed the coach with his finger!" A man shouted, looking out the window. "He's a Saiyan!"

The shrieking increased, and some even started crying.

The driver shouted a curse at Gohan, who pushed the coach once more, and then the coach jerked, veering off the road and overturning.

Videl caught sight of him a moment before the coach left the road, and it was a fitting vision to take to her death. He looked like the devil incarnate, his black hair streaming behind him, his handsome face dark with rage and daring as he pushed his horses beyond endurance.

And then he was lost from sight as the coach crashed with a horrendous shuddering noise, passengers flying through the air, and Videl had a moment to consider that perhaps the choice was being taken from her, after all, and mercy was being bestowed upon her.

It didn't take her long to revise that notion. The world was dark, heavy, and odorous, filled with noisy groans and angry weeping. Videl struggled for breath, unable to move, and she knew with bitter despair that the goose-fat lady had landed directly on top of her.

And then she was blinded, assaulted, by light and air, as the weight was thrown off her, accompanied by an outraged shriek.

Gohan paid no attention to the cries of her fellow passengers. He paid no attention to her uncontrollable shrinking away from him, as he simply hauled her out of the upturned carriage, his large hands rough, his face cold and bitter.

He shoved her into his carriage, climbing in after her and slamming the door behind him. Tien started the coach immediately, and moments later they were travelling once more, the only slightly more sedate pace the result of the valet at the reins. She'd had time to notice the white bandage on his weasel face, and told herself she wished she'd hit him harder. Then she might have had time to reach Bridgetown.

The overturned coach was rapidly disappearing from sight, the bedraggled passengers shaking angry fists after them.

"Aren't you going to do anything to assist them?" she asked faintly. "Someone might be hurt…"

"They're lucky they're not all dead," Gohan snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. He stared at her, his eyes like chips of ice. "You're lucky you're not dead."

Videl met his gaze levelly. Her entire body ached, she could still smell the goose-fat, and her one chance of escape had been shattered. He wouldn't give her a second chance. "Perhaps I'm lucky," she said. "Perhaps not."

"Apparently I've been too lenient with you," he said. "Don't think I'll make that mistake again. I don't like being made a fool of. And I'm rather fond of Tien; his head is sorely bruised. I'm only surprised you didn't go in search of me to exact your vengeance."

"I did," she said, before she could judge the wisdom of that particular confession.

For a moment the dark rage lifted, and he simply stared at her. "I must have been sleeping quite soundly. Either that, or I was… distracted."

Videl could feel her face redden, a fact which amazed her. How could she be missish, after all she had been through? "You were asleep," she said flatly.

"If you were feeling left out," Gohan mused, smirking at what she believed transpired between him and the servant girl, "you could always have joined us."

It was a small enough thing, to be the final straw, but something inside Videl snapped. She launched herself across the swaying carriage, all conscious thought vanishing in her need to hurt him.

A split second later, she was flat on her back on the opposite seat, his body pressing down on top of hers, his hands a manacle around her small wrists, his long legs subduing her flailing ones. She was breathless, panting. He only looked amused, the madness fading from his dark eyes. And for one crazy moment she accepted the fact that his weight was far sweeter than that of the goose-fat lady.

"You've recovered your strength," she observed in a low, bitter voice.

"Were you really foolish enough to believe you could overpower me?" he said, his voice deep. "The last time you went for me, I'd spent the previous day spewing my guts out. That tends to weaken a male, at least temporarily."

"I wish I'd killed you."

"Don't be tiresome. Of course you wish you'd killed me, we both know that. The fact remains that you didn't. The fact also remains that I'm the one in command now. You can't escape me, no matter how hard you try."

"Get off me," she said, her voice a tight, furious knot.

He was very still, considering it. And then he shifted, pressing his hips more tightly against her, pressing his groin against hers, and she realized with shock that he was aroused. Definitely, massively aroused.

Panic swept over her, and for a moment she struggled. It was useless, of course; he was extremely strong. She forced herself to be still, knowing it was fruitless. "Haven't you had enough today?" she asked instead. "You certainly appeared sated as you slept in that girl's bed."

Gohan rocked against her, just slightly, and a shiver of reaction swept over her. A reaction she couldn't, wouldn't put a name to. "You'd be surprised at how insatiable I can be," he said in a ruthless voice. And he put his mouth against hers.

She'd been kissed like that before. Not often. His mouth ground against hers, painfully, until her lips parted beneath his assault. He thrust his tongue inside, a rough intruder, and she lay as still as she could, passive, searching for that dark, inner place that nestled between her breasts, the black angry heart of her, where she could hide from him until he finished with her. It was a place she knew well, a place of velvet comfort, of total blackness, of lively despair. It was her haven, her only protection.

Videl couldn't reach it. He'd caught her face in his hands, as he mouth moved against hers, hard with anger, burning with a desire that lit an answering spark within her, so that for a brief, wild moment she closed her eyes and surrendered to the unleashed power of his angry passion. Her breasts felt hot, tender, pressed against the fine cambric shirt, her hands, trapped beneath his body, wanted to reach out and touch him, to stroke him, to hold him as she hadn't held anyone in such an impossibly long time.

And then awareness of her own madness washed over her, and she began to struggle anew, kicking at him, squirming underneath his pinioning weight, her rage all the more intense since so much of it was directed at herself.

He lifted his head, staring down at her, his eyes glittering in the shadowy carriage. "I thought you were beginning to enjoy it," he drawled.

"Don't flatter yourself," Videl replied. Her mouth was wet from his kiss and she wanted to wipe the dampness, the feel of his mouth, away from hers, but her hands were still trapped between them. "You disgust me." She struggled again, squirming beneath him.

"If you don't stop moving like that," Gohan said, his voice strained, "I'm likely to increase your disgust."

Videl immediately stilled. She wanted to scream at him, but her screams had done little good. She wanted to fight him, but he'd already proven she was no match for him in a physical battle. She wanted to kill him, and she would, the next possible chance she had, she swore it to herself.

She wanted to cry. It had been so very long since she'd actually shed tears, she had thought she would never be able to again. It wasn't as if she didn't long to. For the first few years, she was glad that particular feminine weakness had left her. There was no room in her life for regrets, for tears, for bemoaning her fate.

But later, when things got better, she'd sometimes longed for the release tears could have brought her. But nothing summoned them forth.

Not reliving the horror of seeing her parents on the pyre. Not the memory of Lucifer when she'd last seen him, his face gaunt with hunger, his eyes dark and haunted, his body no more than skin and bones.

Not the nights she'd sold herself to feed her brother. Not the first and only man she'd killed, Yamu, the scum of the earth, but a human being nonetheless.

But lying here, trapped beneath a male who could have had her soul if he'd wished it, she suddenly wanted to cry the tears of a shattered fifteen-year-old virgin. Wanted to so much that she could almost feel the stinging heat in the back of her eyes.

Suddenly Gohan rolled away, swiftly sitting up and crossing to the other side of the carriage. He made a great show of straightening his coat, rearranging his disarranged neckcloth with casual expertise as if there were nothing more pressing to do. As indeed, there might not be.

Videl backed into the corner, as far away from him as she could manage. She felt like a cornered animal, and yet he seemed to have lost all interest in her. And then he glanced up, his eyes gazing into hers, and she realized he hadn't dismissed her at all.

"I missed my breakfast," he drawled. "Not to mention my morning shave. And there is always the distinct possibility that I would have enjoyed an additional three hours spent in the pursuit of my other bodily pleasures as well, if you hadn't taken off. You've deprived me of my creature comforts, Miss. You're going to have to supply them yourself."

"I'd be more than happy to shave you," Videl replied in a deceptively sweet tone of voice.

Gohan smiled wryly. "I'm certain you would be. I think it might be wiser to reserve that task for Tien. I'd prefer to emerge with my throat intact." He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and she couldn't help her instinctive recoil, pulling her own feet up underneath the voluminous skirt.

Her move didn't go unnoticed by Gohan, and his thin smile widened. "And while sharing my bed might prove a novel experience for us both, that's not where your talents lie, is it?"

She controlled her initial start of revulsion. "What do you want of me?"

"To cook me breakfast. We'll stop at the next posting house, and you can provide me with something to put me in a better frame of mind. A tamagoyaki, perhaps, and some miso soup. Without the poison."

"But as a flavoring it's essential," she replied, unwilling to be cowed.

"You'll be my official taster. And trust me, even your hatred of me wouldn't be worth going through the unpleasantness of poisoning. I know from recent experience." He stroked his rough, stubbled cheek with his long fingers, watching her intently. He leaned across the carriage, and despite her efforts to flinch away' he touched her smooth face. "I've marked you," he said softly. "I promise to shave before I kiss you again."

Videl jerked her head away from him. "Promise not to kiss me again," she said, "and I might forgo the poison."

"Certainly," he said easily, leaning back, and she released her pent-up breath.

Videl couldn't quite believe her good luck. "You promise?" she asked, astonished.

"Of course." Gohan's smirk was positively wicked. "The problem is, I always break my promises."

It shocked her. "Have you no honor?"

"Not a trace." He sounded astonishingly matter-of-fact about it. "I would have thought you knew that by now. An honorable male wouldn't have left a young girl behind in a dangerous city. An honorable male wouldn't cuckold a man and then half-kill him in a duel. And an honorable male wouldn't have absconded with his friend's female chef simply because she had the bad manners to attempt to kill him." He shrugged. "It's easier without honor, Miss. You should try it."

"You disgust me."

"Don't be tiresome, Miss. I know you detest me; you don't need to constantly inform me of it. As long as you make me a decent tamagoyaki and brew me some coffee, you can hate me all you wish."

"Coffee?" Videl couldn't keep the faint trace of hope out of her voice.

Gohan was too discerning a man to miss even that tiny glimmering. "I always have Tien carry my favourite beans. The inns I can afford to frequent are unreliable, and a day without coffee isn't worth living." He gave her an amiable smile, one that would have any female swooning. "If you're very nice to me, I might even let you have a cup."

"My price is a great deal higher than a cup of coffee," she replied sharply.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I might have just found your breaking point. Coffee, Miss, and your promise not to run away again."

Videl would have traded her body for a cup of coffee. But not what remained of her soul. "No," she said, her voice flat with fresh despair.

"Put out your hands then." He sounded bored.

"What?"

"I said put out your hands. Unless you want me to come over there and…"

She put out her hands.

The neckcloth was soft, silken, and very strong. He bound her wrists tightly, his fingers deft and cool, then dropped them back in her lap. "I'll leave your ankles free," he said, leaning back again. "At this point, Tien would probably break your neck if you decided to run. He's not in charity with you this morning."

Videl said nothing, fuming. She wouldn't use her unbound feet to run. She'd use them to kick him.

"And if you smile at me," he continued in a lazy voice, "I might still let you have some of my coffee."

Videl growled, low in her throat.

"Close enough, Miss," Gohan murmured. And crossing his muscular arms across his chest, he gave her a mocking smile as the carriage lumbered northward.

* * *

The goose-fat lady - just picture the obese mother of that Ecosa (or however you spell it) who fought Trunks during the World Tournament (Episode 196) :)

Thank you for the reviews – They really do motivate me!

-Rhen-chan


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

She was a most surprising female, Gohan thought, a day and a night later, as his decrepit carriage continued its journey. No matter what he did to her, no matter what hardships she had to endure, she neither complained nor begged, bargained nor pleaded. They'd been travelling since the previous morning, when he'd plucked her from that damned tangle of passengers in the overturned mail coach. When he'd seen the mountainous creature that landed on top of her, he'd had very real doubts about her chances of survival. But she'd emerged, furious, unscathed, not even her formidable temper and determination squashed.

They'd stopped a number of times, to change horses, to eat, and each time he'd kept her hands tied, allowing her only the briefest illusion of privacy. She'd sat huddled in the corner, knocked around by the ramshackle carriage, and she'd never uttered a word of complaint. He knew for a fact how uncomfortable she must be; even though he was a demi-Saiyan, every bone in his own body ached, and his muscles felt as if they'd been pulled in every direction. She had to be feeling worse, without even the dubious cushion of her hands to brace herself every time they hit a particularly onerous pothole.

But she'd said nothing, except to cast an occasional glare in his direction. She'd slept fitfully through the long night, the jostling of the carriage knocking her into wakefulness, and when he'd helped her down the next morning she'd almost collapsed in his arms.

But she'd managed to right herself almost immediately, swaying slightly in her determination, and he had to admire her. Not enough to unfasten one of his best neckcloths from around those small, yet dangerous wrists of hers, but enough to charge Tien to make more stops than he would have considered strictly necessary.

It was dark once more, and from the tension around her mouth, the paleness of her skin, he thought she'd probably inured herself to the notion of spending another night on the road. She wouldn't know that they'd crossed the border into Parsley City hours ago, and that they weren't far from his hunting lodge. Not far from a fire, and a bed, and an end to this incessantly rocking carriage.

Gohan had no intention of informing her either. To tell her would be to give her hope, give her more reason to keep fighting, and she already had too much fight in her. He'd done what he could to demoralize her, but she'd refused to be cowed. Once they reached the hunting lodge, he'd finish the job, thoroughly, efficiently, but part of him was loath to do so. He didn't really want to see her shattered, abased. He wasn't sure why not; it couldn't be any tender emotion such as pity or mercy. He didn't possess either.

Actually, he couldn't even imagine her humbled. But he knew that was nonsense on his part. There wasn't a male alive he couldn't break, if he put his mind to it, and a female, even one as fierce and determined as the little chef, would be child's play. As soon as he rid himself of any lingering, foolish scruples.

He'd take her to bed, of course. She'd probably fight like a wildcat; she did every time he touched her. But she also purred. He'd seen that look in the back of her magnificent cerulean eyes, half-aroused, half-startled, and he knew he could take her. And he knew in the end that the fight would leave her, panting and breathless in his arms.

He liked the idea, liked it very much. He hadn't been so interested in a female, so interested in anything, even the fall of the cards, in longer than he cared to remember. His murderous little chef was arousing his temper, his interest, his body, in a truly memorable fashion. He almost regretted that he was going to turn her into one more forgettable female.

It had been many years since he'd ventured to Parsley City; not since he was a young boy, still possessed of dreams for the future. He'd kept away since then; there was no room in his life for country sojourns or fishing trips. But during the endless, uncomfortable trip north, he found he was looking forward to being in Parsley City again, even in such an unpredictable season as spring. Rustication was good for anyone – Krillen used to swear by it at regular intervals. Maybe he'd settle in, take his time with the rebellious chef, and stay until autumn. He used to like Parsley City. The glory of the apple blossoms, the taste of fresh cream and honey, the green of the hills, and the clear blue of the lakes. He'd catch fish this time. He hadn't indulged in the sport since his last trip there, but he could still remember the thrill of grabbing hold of a five-pound salmon. And how good that salmon had taste, cooked over an open fire, just him and Piccolo, the Namekian who'd been his bodyguard, his keeper, his training companion until a plague had carried him off.

"How are you at cooking salmon? Have you ever cooked it before?" he asked abruptly.

She lifted her head, surprise lighting the darkness in her eyes. "Of course. I can cook anything." It wasn't a boast; she was too weary and miserable to boast. It was a simple statement of fact.

"I'll catch a salmon for us in the morning," he replied. "If you promise not to poison it."

"The morning?" she echoed wearily.

The carriage was slowing in the twilight, and Gohan glanced out the window at the familiar countryside. He could see the hunting lodge up ahead, and even in the shadows he could see that it hadn't fared well in the intervening years. Part of the roof had caved in, and he had little doubt that various forms of wildlife had taken up residence in the derelict old building. Gohan only hoped that they were edible forms. Tien was an excellent trapper, and he was famished.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Miss," he murmured, "We're here. The journey is over."

He expected some sign of enthusiasm. He received none, only increased wariness. Probably with some justification, he admitted to himself. She had to know that his plans for her were not of the noble sort.

"What next?" she asked, her voice flat and emotionless, and he wondered what had happened to her before she came into Bulma's employ, when she said she'd been in a hostel. What had taught her to bury her feelings, her reactions, to face the world with blind, accepting eyes.

"Next?" he echoed. "Next, Miss, you cook dinner for me. Something sumptuous. I'm absolutely starving."

"What about your chef?"

"Peer out the window at our destination. You will find that my hunting lodge doesn't come equipped with an intact roof, much less a retinue of servants. If we're to eat tonight, you're going to have to concoct something. I think I'd probably even prefer poison to Tien's culinary attempts. At least your food doesn't taste as if it would kill you, even if it's more immediately effective."

She did manage to look out the window at the derelict building as Tien pulled the horses to a weary halt, but if she felt dismay she managed to hide it. As she managed to hide most things. "And how am I supposed to come up with dinner?" she asked sharply, and he knew with sudden relief that she'd actually do it.

"We have a few basics with us. Sugar, flour, coffee, and brandy. Tien can probably forage something fresh. I'm counting on you to do the rest; you seem to be endlessly resourceful."

"Aren't I just?" she replied, eyeing his throat with a fondness that he knew signified dangerous intentions.

Gohan didn't wait for Tien, leaping down from the carriage with an exhausted sigh. The air was damp and cold; he could see the icy vapour of his breath in front of him, and he realized absently that he'd been chilled for the last few hours. He hadn't even noticed.

He turned to the chef. She stood in the doorway of the carriage, her hands still bound in front of her, and she looked past him at the tumbled-down building. "Just what I would have expected you to live in," she said sharply.

Gohan hoped she'd stumble when she climbed down, but she didn't. He knew he could put his hands on her anyway; there was no one to stop him except himself.

But he wanted to wait. To savour the anticipation.

The lodge had belonged to his father, the last remnant of a squandered inheritance. None of the Sons had been particularly fond of Parsley City, with Gohan being the sole exception, and for a moment he felt real grief at the state of the beloved old building. And then he banished it. Tien could make it habitable; Tien could make any squalid hole habitable.

The inside of the lodge was even worse than the exterior had led him to expect. The main hall was roofless – filled with debris from the forest surrounding them, and he could see that a fire had been partially responsible for its swift decay. The back of the building was in better shape, with two rooms untouched by the fire, though there was no guarantee what condition the huge fireplace would be in. One room had been used for storage, the other was a bedroom. Tien and the little chef stood on either side of him, surveying the disarray.

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us," Gohan announced briskly. "First things first. Tien, you will find us something to eat. Rabbit, quail, anything. There's a farm just over the next rise; you might be able to find some eggs, milk, even butter. There's no telling what our chef could do with such wonders."

"I'm going," Tien said with a nod. "Once I unload the coach. I take it you'll be wanting your things in this room?"

"It looks the most promising," Gohan answered, glancing around him at the sagging bed frame, the littered fireplace.

"And Miss'?"

Gohan gave him a smirk. "In here as well."

If his reply disturbed the little chef, she refused to show it. "If you'd untie my hands," she said evenly, "I'll see what I can find of the kitchens."

"The kitchens were on the west side of the house, and they've caved in completely. You'll have to make do with this fireplace. Assuming it's not stuffed with birds' nests or the like."

"Very well," she said, holding out her wrists with the utmost patience.

Tien had already left the room, leaving the two of them there in the murky light. "Now why do I think untying you might be a very dangerous thing to do?" he mused, making no move to release her.

"I can't be your servant with my hands bound," she said, tension creeping into her voice.

"But you can't attempt to stab me in the back either," he pointed out.

She growled, low in her throat. "Very well," she replied, dropping her arms against her long skirts.

Gohan caught them, glad of the excuse to touch her, glad of the excuse to feel her jerk nervously at the feel of his hands on her, knowing it wasn't as simple as fear or hatred. "I suppose it would be a waste of time to ask you for your word of honour."

"It depends on what you ask."

"That you not try to murder me tonight? A small request, surely. Even a bloodthirsty creature like yourself must long for dinner and a decent night's sleep."

"Am I going to allowed a decent night's sleep?" she asked, glancing pointedly at the single bed.

"Of course," Gohan said, not hesitating. She would sleep, all right. He would tire her out so much she would sleep for days.

She didn't believe him, of course, but she nodded. "Very well, then. I give you my word."

He was still holding her bound wrists. Her hands were like ice against his, but they remained motionless in his grip. "Why should I believe you?" he said, not wanting to release her.

"Because, unlike you, I have a sense of honour. If I give my word, I do not break it."

Gohan believed her. Most females of his acquaintance had scant appreciation for honour or truthfulness, but he already knew that the female chef had little in common with the dashing widows he spent his time with.

He swiftly unfastened the rumpled neckcloth, tucking it in his pocket for further use. "See what you can find for us to eat," he said, "and I'll start a fire."

Her expression was frankly disbelieving. She turned from him, and he had to admire her unconscious grace, hampered as she was by Bulma's clothes. She would probably be a great deal more graceful without them, he thought for a brief, dreamy moment. He had every intention of finding out. He'd put off that particular pleasure for too long as it was.

In the meantime, he needed to concentrate on getting some warmth in the room. If he was going to divest the chef of her clothes, and he planned to do just that, he wanted it to be warm enough for her to enjoy it. And for him to enjoy her.

* * *

The heat of the fire managed to penetrate to the centre of the large room, but not much beyond that. It had astonished Videl that a dissolute wastrel like Gohan Son could accomplish something as profoundly practical as starting a fire, but accomplish it he had, including removing the old bird's nest that had clogged the chimney and sent billows of smoke out into the room. He'd also dragged the bed closer to the centre of the room, disturbing a nest of field mice from the aging mattress. There were no linens, but he'd brought in the lap robes from the carriage and spread them across the ticking. He'd used all the lap robes, she noticed, leaving only one bed equipped. And she wondered again who was going to sleep where. Surely he didn't intend the three of them to bundle together on that sagging mattress. Though it might be the warmest, safest alternative. Or perhaps not, she thought belatedly, remembering things she'd been told by the more experienced women she'd met in Satan City.

It had taken all her considerable self-control not to bolt when he'd left her alone in the room, surrounded by the most depressing assortment of foodstuffs. But she'd given her word, and even if he didn't expect honour from her, she expected it from herself. Even more so now that she knew how devoid he was of that particular trait.

The demi-Saiyan had even managed to unearth a broom from some part of the ruined house, but when he took to stirring the dust up into swirling clouds that settled in the food she was trying to assemble, she took it from him with wifely hands and banished him to sit by the fire. The act gave her a belated feeling of despair. How easy it was to give in, to fall into pleasant ways, forgetting her determination, forgetting his villainy.

Tien was better than she would have thought, returning with butter, eggs, thick cream and a slab of sharp aged cheese. While the two males busied themselves in the other room, she managed wonders: a sweet custard spiced with a few withered apples from last fall's harvest, a hearty tamagoyaki, and coffee, wonderful coffee. If it were up to her, she would have coffee with every meal. It had become the one pure pleasures left to her, and she savored the scent and flavor of it as it brewed over her makeshift cooking fire.

The table had only three working legs; she'd had to prop it against a wall. She filled the plates evenly, filled the mugs with coffee, and sat down gracefully, waiting.

She didn't expect praise, and she didn't receive it. Gohan threw himself down in a chair that was far too decrepit to make such behavior wise, reached over, and took her plate, exchanging it with his. "You have no objections, I assume?" he asked with false politeness.

"None at all," she murmured.

Tien watched this byplay from his shifty eyes. "Maybe you'd better take mine," he said, reaching across the table and exchanging plates with his master. "She's a clever one."

"If you like, I'll eat everyone's dinner," Videl offered with false sweetness. "I'm famished, and the food is getting cold while you two argue. Choose your plate and let me eat in peace."

Gohan leaned back in the chair. "Now there's a challenge if ever I've heard one. Can't let the girl think we're cowards, Tien. We've at least a one in three chance of surviving. Unless she's decided to put a period to all three of us at once, like some damned tragedy."

"Trust me," she replied, "I'm no longer willing to die in order for you to meet your just reward."

Gohan and Tien had been depleting the bottle of brandy in the back room, and now he took it and tipped a generous amount into Videl's mug of coffee. "No martyr, is that it? Just as well. Martyrdom is unbelievably tiresome."

"I gather you speak from experience," Videl said lightly.

"Only from having to suffer from exposure to them. Saints are very tedious, Miss. I much prefer sinners."

"I imagine you do." The tamagoyaki was delicious, even though she mourned the absence of any soy sauce and herbs. It was just as well, though. Gohan would have probably decided thyme was an arcane form of arsenic, and consigned her lovely tamagoyaki to the fire.

Once he decided to risk it, he ate well, more than she'd seen him eat in their days together. There was an odd light to his eyes, one that made her uneasy. As if he'd been biding his time since he'd taken her away from Capsule Hall, but now that time of waiting was over.

Videl didn't know whether she was frightened or relieved.

His next words proved her right. "I'll want you to go into town, Tien," he said casually, leaning back with his own mug of brandy. He'd finished the coffee, following it with straight liquor, and he looked calm, relaxed, and very dangerous. "There was an inn we passed not more than five miles away where you can bespeak a room. See if they've any word from Fire Mountain. I imagine Sharpener Pencille is well on his way to good health, otherwise we would have heard. Perhaps you might see if there are any young ladies closer in size to Miss. She must be tired of dressing in a giant's clothes."

"Bulma's not a giant," Videl said indignantly, attack in the unexpected quarter slicing through her defenses.

"So there is someone or something you care about," Gohan said. "Don't think there's anything Bulma can do to save you. She might be equally fond of you, but she can hardly come haring after us. You've seen the last of her, Miss. Accept it."

"I accepted it three days ago, when you dragged me away from Capsule Hall."

"It was four days ago, Miss. I'm glad to know that time has flown for you. I know I've been unspeakably cruel, when all you wanted to do was murder me. I do tend to lose my temper in the face of such minor inconveniences; it's one of my besetting sins." He took another sip. Tien had risen, moving toward the door.

"When shall I return?" he asked, and for the first time Videl noticed that Tien seldom referred to his employer by a title or a name.

Gohan didn't bother to glance at him; his contemplative smile was all for Videl's wary figure. "Late tomorrow," he drawled. "Take your time."

The solved the question of sleeping arrangements, she thought, not moving, not letting her face betray her. She rose slowly, clearing the table, as she let her mind run riot. There was no need for panic, she reminded herself. She had survived far worse than the male lounging negligently at the table, watching her. She had survived, stronger and more determined than ever. She would survive Gohan Son.

* * *

The weeks after she and Lucifer had arrived in the heart of Satan City had been a horrific blur. The days they spent hiding, because even rough clothes and dirt couldn't disguise their patrician origins from a bloodthirsty mob. The nights they spent foraging for food and fighting off the creatures that ruled the night. Creatures that at times had more interest in her beautiful, innocent younger brother than in her.

She knew it the day it had happened, far too well. They'd been two days without eating, and Lucifer had been crying incessantly, the rivulets of tears washing the filth from his face. She'd left him in the alleyway behind the wine shop, a safe enough place, while she'd gone to find a scrap of food. She'd found far more than she'd bargained for.

Yamu. She could still see him, his pale face with its short, ugly blade of a nose, his thin lips and stained teeth. He'd been young that night, she realized, though to her fifteen years, he'd seemed very grown-up. He probably wasn't much more than twenty-five, but his face was ageless. Evil, though she hadn't known it then.

He'd found her on her knees next to a man who'd just left the wine shop. The man had been too drunk to stagger more than a few paces before he'd collapsed on the pavement, passed out.

She'd been watching him from her corner of the shadows, and she'd moved swiftly, kneeling to relieve the corpulent bourgeoisie of his purse, when a cruel hand had clamped down on her shoulder and hauled her upright.

He swore when the light caught her face. "There are better ways to make a living, my beauty," he said, pushing her hair from her face with a filthy hand. She was equally filthy from her weeks of living on the street, but she recoiled anyway.

"What's your name, girl?" he demanded. "You mustn't have been here long, to still be making ends meet. I can take you someplace where you'll have pretty clothes, a bath if you so desire, and good food. Lots and lots of food."

Videl stared at him, mute, defiant. She was still innocent enough, despite their weeks in the heart of Satan City, not to understand what he was talking about, but she knew if she spoke, he'd recognize the differences in their voices. And she'd been an unwilling witness to too much violence against anyone with pretensions to gentility.

She tried to pull away from him, but it was in vain. She considered calling out for help, but she knew with crushing certainty that she would be trading one devil for the next. She had no choice but to stumble after him as he dragged her along the streets, her puny struggles making no inroad on his determination.

"You'll like Madame Ushio's," Yamu had said. "All you have to do is be agreeable, and you'll have a better life than most of your sort. Be glad you were lucky enough to be born with a pretty face. It's better than the streets, my girl."

The house had been too warm, filled with girls with young faces and old eyes, clean hands and soiled bodies. When she'd fought they'd hurt her; when she'd refused to cooperate they'd forced her. Madame Ushio had surveyed her, satisfaction on her grim face as she offered Yamu a handful of coins. Her satisfaction had increased when the rough brute of a woman who'd bathed Videl and clothed her and poked her unmercifully announced that best looking girl in the house was also the last living virgin in Satan City.

"She'll be worth a fortune," Madame Ushio had chortled gleefully. "I might find it in my heart to give Yamu a few more zenny for the treasure he brought me."

That was the first time Videl had heard his name, the man who'd sold her into whoredom for a handful of coins. It had taken time, endless time, but she'd killed him for what he'd done to her. Just as she would kill Gohan Son.

* * *

Tien had brought her water before he departed. While she had no desire to act as Gohan's scullery maid, washing the dishes at least delayed the reckoning she knew was coming. And with his dark, fathomless eyes watching her from beyond the fire, Videl suddenly experienced the first strains of cowardice she'd felt in many, many years.

She scrubbed. As a chef, she knew how to scrub, and the three-legged was spotless. Gohan simply sat there, his legs stretched out in front of him, his neckcloth long since discarded, and watched her as she bustled around the room.

"Are you ready to alight, Miss?" he inquired lazily, when she was trying to decide whether she could get away with washing the floor. "Or are you still planning to put off the inevitable?"

She stood very still, watching him. She wasn't going to fight him; he'd already proven it would do no good. There was no special knife within reach – Tien had seen to that – and there was nothing else she could do, nothing short of trying to shove him into the fire. It was inevitable.

"I am hardly going to assist at my own rape," she said quietly. "If you want me, you'll have to make me."

He smiled then, and his decadent beauty was remarkable in the flickering firelight. She wondered stonily how she could resist him. And realized with sudden dawning horror that she was not sure if she could.

"I'm very good at making people do what I want," he said softly, rising from his seat. The fitful light cast a large shadow behind him, so that he looked even taller than his formidable height, and quite dangerous. It wasn't an illusion, Videl told herself. He was the greatest danger she had ever known. And for reasons she didn't wish to contemplate.

He moved slowly across the room, graceful, lethal. She remained still, awaiting him, telling herself to hold still when he touched her, telling herself to close her eyes and retreat inside herself and it would soon be over. Telling herself that fighting him would only make it worse.

But when he reached out and touched her shoulder, something inside her snapped, and she slapped him across his elegant, beautiful face, as hard as she could.

* * *

Gohan's head tilted slightly to the side from the force of her blow, but his fingers neither tightened nor released her shoulder. "That was unwise of you, Miss," he murmured, but there was no disguising the tight thread of anger beneath his indolent tone. "Don't you know what they say about me?"

"Get your hands off me." She attempted to squirm away, and this time his hands did tighten, painfully.

"They say I'm half-mad. A bad one, through and through, with no sense of decency or honor. They say to cross me is to put one's life at risk. Most people steer clear of me and my hot temper." His voice was as thin and mocking as his smile.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Half-mad."

Gohan stared at her for a long, meditative moment, and there was no discerning the expression behind his dark, fathomless eyes. "Surely I must be," he said. "To still want you." And he pulled her up against him, his mouth coming down on hers, hard.

She struggled, but it was useless. He was far too big, too strong, his arms holding her tight against his aroused body as his mouth plundered hers. She tried to push, but her hands were trapped beneath their bodies. She tried to jerk her mouth away, but while one of his strong arms held her immobile, his other hand was free to hold her chin still for his marauding mouth. He tasted of the brandy he'd drunk with abandon; he tasted of the coffee she'd made him. He tasted of anger and determination and sex. She only wished he tasted of poison.

Videl stopped her struggles, for a brief, deceptive moment.

And brought her knee up, hard, between his legs.

He was too fast for her. He moved, just in time, spinning her around and falling onto the bed with her beneath him, his mouth never leaving hers, and she wanted to scream.

It would do no good. There would be no one to hear her. She'd survived rape before; she could do so again. She closed her eyes, closed away the sight of him, and withdrew, curling up in that small, dark place inside, away from him, away from everyone.

She was barely aware of the moment when his mouth left hers. She lay very still, waiting for him to rip the dress of her. Perhaps he intended to be more frugal, simply tossing her skirts over her head and pulling them back down when he was finished. It didn't matter. She couldn't feel a thing.

His hands slid across her cheeks, his fingers entwining in her long hair, and she felt the material of his shirt against her bruised mouth. She waited, waited for the violence that would help her descent into forgetfulness, but nothing came. Nothing but silence, broken by the crackle of the fire, the harsh, gradually slowing sound of his breathing.

Finally, unwillingly, when the silence had grown so that it filled the room, she opened her eyes. He was straddling her body, looking down at her, an odd expression on his face. "You're back," he said.

Videl braced herself, waiting for the assault to begin once more. But he made no move, his hands still cupping her face, his eyes intent.

"Back?" she managed to echo, her voice a rough whisper. It sounded as if she'd been screaming for hours. Perhaps she had.

"From that little world where you go," he said, his thumbs brushing, caressing, her soft mouth.

Long ago, one of the older women at the inn where she used to cook tried to explain to her the joys of married sex. It wasn't the act, so much, the old woman had said. A messy, overrated thing, as far as she was concerned. It was the holding, before and after, that mattered. Sex was simply the trade-off wives had to make.

Videl had scoffed at the notion. No amount of tenderness before or after could make the act bearable. To be sure, a younger matron, one with a brood of six children, had differed with the old woman, informing Videl that with the right man, sex wasn't the price she had to pay; it was the reward.

That notion struck her as even more absurd. Still, lying beneath Gohan Son, his hands in her hair, she could begin to understand the sweetness of a soft touch. And sympathize with those females who were willing to pay the price.

It took all her formidable will to resist the seduction of his warm hands on her face, but she managed. "If you're going to do it," she said in a hard little voice, "then I wish you'd get on with it. I'd like some sleep."

If she expected to goad him, she failed. Instead, a mocking smile twisted his mouth. "You know, my little chef, it's damned hard to rape a woman who doesn't fight. And it's just as difficult to make love to a woman who simply lies there in a trance."

"My apologies," she snapped.

"I don't suppose there's any chance I could convince you to show a little more enthusiasm for this project? No? Then perhaps we should both concentrate on getting some sleep."

To Videl's astonishment, Gohan released her, climbing off her body and sinking down on the mattress beside her. The moment he moved away, she tried to bolt off the bed, but his large hand shot out and caught her wrist, hauling her back against him, her skirts covering his long legs.

"That doesn't mean I'm about to let you go," he said levering himself up on his elbow. "I need my sleep as much as you do, and I'm frankly more concerned with my well-being than with yours. The only way I expect to be able to sleep well is if you're taken care of. I'd hoped to seduce you into a nice little puddle of acquiescence, but since that seems unworthy the effort, we're simply going to have to resort to bondage."

"Bondage?" she said, her eyes widening in the fitful light.

"Bondage," he said, pushing himself off the bed.

Videl tried to bolt once more, but he simply caught her around the waist and threw her back down on the bed, none too gently. "I wouldn't do that again if I were you," he said calmly. "Next time I have to throw you down on the bed, I might not mind your passivity. Stay put, and count your blessings."

"You're far too kind," she replied, her voice rich with sarcasm.

"You never let up, do you?" he said, sitting down beside her, taking her wrists in his. He'd become adept with his neckcloth, only the jerky deftness of his hands betraying his tension as he bound her hands behind her back. "That's one of the things that I admire about you, Miss." Leaning forward, he flipped up her skirts, exposing her supple legs, and she jumped again.

"You promised…" she began, as she tried to squirm away from him.

"I promised nothing." He sounded completely impersonal. "I'll take you when and where I want to. And how. For the moment, I'm simply going to tie your ankles. I don't want to have to worry about you creeping around looking for a weapon while I manage to catch up on my sleep."

He was as good as his word; tying her ankles and pulling her skirts back down around her. He stared at her, and then sighed. "I have the feeling, Miss, that it might be a very long night."

Gohan stretched out beside her, and she did her best to move away from him. The bed, however, was concave, and she simply rolled back, up against him.

He stared down at her with unholy amusement. "The question that remains, is what do we do with that mouth of yours."

Videl glared at him. "Apart from gagging me, there's not a damned thing you can do."

"But that's where you're wrong." He slid down beside her, cupped her face with his long fingers, and brushed his mouth against hers, very gently.

"Don't," she said, trying to pull her head away.

"Grant me this much," he said, and it wasn't a request. "Since I'm being such a good Saiyan tonight." He kissed her again, just as gently, his lips clinging to hers for a long, breathless minute.

Videl couldn't fight him. Not with her limbs tied, not with his hands holding her face still, not with his mouth so impossibly soft and gentle that it brought tears to her heart.

He nudged her lips apart with his own, using his tongue this time, not as invader but to stroke her, seduce her, tasting her lips, the sweet inside of her mouth and tongue, as his wrapped his long, lean body around hers.

She shut her eyes, wondering if she could escape from this, the most devastating assault of all. She could feel him through the thickness of her skirts, and she knew he was thoroughly aroused, even though he seemed to have decided against raping her. Perhaps he believed he could seduce her. She would simply have to show him it was a lost cause.

But he was demanding nothing from her, content to hold her in his strong arms and kiss her, lingeringly, every inch of her trembling mouth, before travelling up her face, to press his lips against her fluttering eyelids, then moving down to the unbearably sensitive lobe of her ear. Something was burning inside her, something she told herself was disgust.

Videl closed her eyes, trying to shut him out, trying to calm the pounding of her heart, trying to still the racing of her pulses, but when his mouth finally touched hers again, starting at one corner and nibbling on her lower lip. She couldn't keep from moving her own lips, to catch his, to keep him there, to kiss him, and his groan of pleasure brought an answering rush to her own heart until she suddenly realized what she was doing…

A cry of anguish was torn from her as she tried to pull away from him. But for all the gentleness of his mouth, his hands were still inexorable, holding her still for his merciless gaze.

"What's the matter, Miss?" he murmured. "Afraid you might like it?"

There was a trace of blood on his mouth, blood that must have come from her own mouth, bruised from his earlier harsh kiss. She stared up at him, shocked to realize she wanted to kiss the blood from his full, mocking mouth. She wanted to kiss him, again and again and again. It was like a drug, one that wiped away common sense and safety, honor and revenge, the past and the future. All that mattered was the damp sweetness of his mouth against hers.

"If you kiss me again, I will kill you," she said fiercely.

Gohan shook his head. "Tell me something new, Miss. You're already planning to poison me the first chance you get. I might as well enjoy myself in the meantime."

"By raping a bound woman?"

"No. By seducing a woman who is not quite certain whether she hates me more than anyone she's ever known." Then he released her, kissing her once more, a brief, hard kiss on her bruised mouth, before sinking back beside her.

Videl could feel his body pressing along hers, the heat and hardness of him. Once more she tried to edge away. Once more she slid back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He sounded almost meditative in the darkness. "You're keeping your chastity by only a thread. If you keep bumping against me, I might regret my first act of nobility in many years."

Videl held still. The thought of her chastity was a joke, a sour one, one she was tempted to share. Except that it would give him license to touch her again, and she didn't think she could bear it. Her heart was inured to cruelty, to harshness and brutality, even to rape. It was pathetically vulnerable to gentleness.

Gohan had already ascertained that fact. He was an intelligent male; he knew all he needed to do was be gentle with her and she'd have no defenses at all. She couldn't help but wonder why he had stopped, knowing the sure way to have her.

Perhaps, blessed be, he didn't really want her all that much. This game of cat and mouse might have nothing to do with real desire, and everything to do with anger and revenge.

And then Videl remembered the unmistakable feel of his body pressed against hers, and knew without doubt that the desire was very real. On his part, at least.

She wanted to cry. No, she didn't, she reminded herself. It was a blessing she couldn't. If she were to cry, he would know it. If she were to cry, he would comfort her. And she knew with chilling certainty just was form that comfort would take.

She wouldn't move, wouldn't breathe, wouldn't let her heart pound. Wouldn't betray her confusion, her agitation, any more than she had to. He wasn't the beautiful young male she'd fallen in love with when she was young and innocent. He wasn't the handsome demi-Saiyan with the face of an angel, who smiled at her with a sweetness just for her, who took her small hand in his large, strong one, who looked at her with such intensity that it had frightened her as much as it called to her. That boy had never existed.

He was the monster who mocked and repudiated her to her father, who left her family to face disaster and tragedy. He was a gamester, a drunkard, a womanizer, and a murderer. He was responsible for all that had gone wrong in her life, and if she simply killed him, then everything would be fixed.

Foolish, foolish conceit on her part. Killing Gohan Son wouldn't bring her parents back, or return her safe, bucolic life. It wouldn't bring Lucifer back from whatever horrifying fate had befallen him. It wouldn't return to her all the things she had lost. And it wouldn't fill the black hole in her heart that she had wanted to fill with revenge.

She would let it go. Let him go. She should have known her thirst for justice would only rebound on her own narrow shoulders. Even at his worst, Gohan Son was no match for the pure evil of Yamu. And the sight of Yamu after she'd killed him, was a vision that would haunt her till her own grave. And perhaps beyond.

She heard a soft, guttural noise, one she didn't recognize. Until she realized with a shock that the enemy beside her was asleep, her torment and troubles casually dismissed. She wanted to kick him. She wanted to roll from the bed and make her escape, even if her bound feet forced her to hop all the way to the border.

She told herself she dared not risk it. He'd already warned her of the consequences she dare not pay. She would have to lie there, pressed up against the fiery warmth of his body, and endure.

Videl closed her eyes. Only for a moment, she told herself. There was no pillow on the makeshift bed. No place to rest her weary head but on his shoulder.

In his sleep he moved, tucked her head against him, smoothing her hair away from her face as she snuggled up against him. He would never remember, she told herself, drifting off. He must be so used to sleeping with anonymous females that his gestures were instinctive.

Still, it seemed to her sleep-fogged mind that a smile might have curved his mouth as he stroked her. And for the first time, that smile was completely devoid of mockery.

* * *

Things were going surprisingly well, Prince Vegeta decided. In two days on the road, they'd made remarkable progress, so that now they were only a day or so behind Gohan Son and his supposed hostage.

They'd managed to find decent inns along the way, and respectable horseflesh when they'd been forced to relieve the horses. Eighteen proved herself estimable as always by sleeping like a cat, at least twenty hours a day. His own valet, Nappa, was his usual unobtrusive self, and it hadn't taken long to put Bulma at her ease. By the end of the first day, she was chattering to him with unselfconscious charm, rather as she had when she was an awkward adolescent, before the pangs of ill-advised puppy love had intruded on their comfortable relationship.

He wondered if he should have handled that differently. She had been very young when she suddenly started blushing and stammering and staring at him quite fixedly when she thought he wouldn't notice. She'd really been quite luscious back then, with her soft curves and her shy smile, and he'd been sorely tempted to sample that youthful admiration and see whether he might develop a taste for it.

But she was the daughter of one of his father's good friends, not the sort one could trifle with. Any move on his part would have been taken very seriously indeed, and he simply hadn't been ready to settle down. There were too many females, too many hours of training, too many games of chance.

He certainly would have had a much more comfortable life if he had shaken off his customary indolence and given Bulma Brief what she'd been unconsciously asking for. They'd have been married for a few years, doubtless with at least a couple little brats to train with, and to enliven the more stifling aspects of married life. They wouldn't be haring off to Parsley City in the middle of the wettest spring people could remember, encumbered by her companion and his valet, so that every night he retired to a solitary bed and thought of her; alone, dependent on him, just a few doors away.

He wondered whether Dr Brief would have received his missive yet, and what he planned to do about it. Vegeta had been arrogant enough about the matter, simply stating that he planned to marry Dr Brief's daughter, and it was up to him to insert the notice in the local newspaper whenever he saw fit. With Vegeta's current string of ill luck, Dr Brief was probably chasing after them with as much diligence as they were chasing after Gohan Son.

Vegeta found the whole situation very irritating. As they were getting closer and closer to achieving their goal, he was slipping further and further back. Bulma was treating him with the cheerful, sisterly camaraderie she'd felt before she'd developed that crush on him. And he found himself longing for just a trace of that romantic awareness. He was beginning to have the decidedly uncomfortable suspicion that she saw him in the light of a brother.

What he couldn't understand was how a female could be so besotted one year and so immune the next?

He stared at the mug of mulled wine in front of him. Bulma was already safely tucked up in bed, her dragon of a companion sleeping with her. Lucky dragon. He wondered what Bulma wore to sleep at night. She had a fondness for overbright colours; chances were she eschewed the normal virginal white lawn in her night rail and went in for pinks and peaches.

Vegeta shifted uneasily in his seat at the thought of Bulma's own pink and peach body draped in her nightclothes. He grunted; if anyone was becoming besotted, he was. He had been too long without a female.

He'd never been at the mercy of his urges before. But somehow, being cooped up in that carriage with Bulma was having the most alarming effect on him. He even dreamed about her, something else that also served to deeply irritate him. He couldn't remember when he'd last dreamed about a woman.

If they continued to make the progress they had in tracking down Gohan, this little interlude would come to an end a bit sooner than he would want it to. Instead of bringing him closer to Bulma, it seemed to be settling them into an uncomfortably comfortable relationship. He'd come to count on her adoration. The withdrawal of it, replaced by friendliness completely devoid of romantic awareness, was more disturbing than he ever would have guessed.

He was going to have to exert himself, there was no doubt about that. He was conceited enough to believe it wouldn't require that much effort, but he'd already been discovering his earlier conceit had been sadly misplaced. If he didn't watch it, someone would snatch her away from him before he had time to give her an alternative. The time had come for just a trace of ruthlessness. The chaperons would have to go.

* * *

Please do let me know what you think!

-Rhen-chan


	11. Chapter Eleven

**A/N**: Please do remember that this IS an AU fic – I've portrayed Gohan this way as this personality suits the plot; if he was gentle and friendly the way he is originally, many of the problems between Gohan and Videl that have occurred in this fic would not have been possible.

**Chapter Eleven**

Bulma lay awake in the warm, soft bed while Eighteen snored gently beside her. She still couldn't quite understand Eighteen's insistence on clinging to her, night and day, up to and including sharing a bed. It wasn't as if there was any real threat to her reputation, or, heaven forfend, her chastity. More's the pity.

She prided herself on handling things extremely well with Vegeta. Not for a moment had she given in to romantic longings. She'd been brisk, friendly, no-nonsense, all that he could have asked for in a forced companionship. Not once had she exhibited any of the quite shameful longings that had grown stronger than ever with each passing hour.

She'd been so certain she'd outgrown him. Outgrown that silly, girlhood crush, so that now she could derive simple pleasure in his company, without blushing, without stammering, without weaving all sorts of impossible fantasies.

If only he'd married the inestimable Terumi. They would have dealt so well together, she with her starchy, elegant manners, he with his indolent, negligent charm. He'd have grown smug and even more handsome; he might very well have named her godmother to one of his children, and there'd be no more question of any romantic nonsense.

But as long as Vegeta wasn't married, as long as he was still ostensibly available, then there was always the remote, impossible possibility that he might turn to her.

Every morning she gave herself a stern talking-to, berating herself for foolish daydreams that bordered on the shocking. Every night she thought of him, just a few doors away, and her body grew hot. Once, just once, she'd like to share a bed with someone who did more than snore.

They would catch up with Gohan Son in less than two days, according to Vegeta. She hadn't thought any further than that, only knowing she had to rescue Videl. But what if Vegeta was right? What if Videl had left willingly? Heaven knew, Gohan Son was enough to tempt even the most determined spinster from her lace caps. Perhaps he'd been able to seduce Videl from her hatred of males and her affection for Bulma.

But Bulma didn't think so. She had no doubt at all that Videl would come with them. The one question that had begun to plague her, one that she had considered far too late, was what if Gohan didn't choose to let her go?

Vegeta hadn't taken her belated concern in good stead. He'd seemed affronted that she could even consider the possibility that Gohan could best him in a duel. But indeed, it was only common sense.

When had things become so complicated? If only Gohan Son had never arrived at Capsule Hall! Bulma had grown accustomed to her quiet life, the long, empty future stretched ahead of her, husbandless, childless, but rich with the friendship of people like Videl and Vegeta.

And now, suddenly, friendship wasn't enough. She longed for Vegeta in the most indecent, unladylike ways. And the more she attempted to repress it, to act as if he were her favourite cousin, the more the longing increased.

She wanted this sojourn to end. She wanted the safety of Capsule Hall, the comfort of her ordinary life.

She wanted the sojourn to last forever. Vegeta's company was addictive, and as painful as her foolish daydreams might be, she had to cling to them, to him, for the short period that had been granted to her.

Eighteen snuffled loudly, flopping over in the bed and settling down into a quieter snoring. Did Vegeta snore? What did he sleep in? What was he like when he was around Terumi or one of his inamoratas? Did he treat them with the same indolent charm?

She would never know. And if she had her wish, Vegeta would never discover that she'd never quite outgrown that childish longing she had for him.

Except that it wasn't quite childish anymore. She didn't want to simply dance with him at the local ball, to flirt with him over charades, to marry him with all pomp and glory, with her family proud of her at last.

She wanted to lie naked with him. To have his children. To kiss him on his mouth. She wanted him to look at her with heat and longing in his dark eyes, with the heat and longing she felt every time she looked at him.

Daydreams. Foolish fancies. She needed to get back to Capsule Hall, to her weapons and labs. She needed Videl's common sense to set her straight.

But please, don't let it happen too soon. Just a little while more, please. Before she became good Bulma Brief once more.

* * *

Videl felt warm, and safe, and cherished. She knew she was back at her manor, still a child, her baby brother asleep in the nursery, her parents in their sumptuous apartments. She could be no more than ten; at ten her life had taken a dark, painful turn, and she'd never felt that safe and loved again.

Perhaps it had all been a dream. An endless, hideous nightmare, full of death and despair, but a dream nonetheless. If she opened her eyes, she'd see the pale mauve walls, lined in silk. She'd see the bright blue sky and hear the birds singing.

The sky was always blue in Satan City. The birds always sang. Except for the day they took her parents away, and she and Lucifer followed in their wake.

It must still be dark outside; there was no teasing light beyond her closed eyelids. The silk coverlets were heavier than usual, the pillow beneath her head more solid, more like bone and muscle than feathers.

But they had to be feathers beneath her head. If they weren't, then she wouldn't be at her manor, and her nightmare would be real. There would be no comfort or safety, only danger.

His arms were around her waist, pulling her close against him. One leg lay between hers, a possessive intruder, and his hand was tangled in her hair. She could picture it, the long, white fingers entwined in her dark tresses. Would she find a pile of coins beside the bed?

But Videl hadn't earned those coins. Wouldn't earn those coins. He couldn't buy her. He could kidnap her, keep her hostage, take her by force if he had a mind to. Even kill her. But he couldn't buy her acquiescence.

A male's shoulder shouldn't be comfortable. Especially a male as lean and muscular as Gohan Son. But it was. His chin rested on her forehead, and she told herself she didn't dare move. If she did, he might awake and finish what he'd started the night before. It was a risk she didn't want to take. Her only alternative was to remain utterly still, trapped in his arms, pinioned against his strong, hot body. She would simply have to endure.

He'd untied her arms and legs sometime during the night, and she hadn't even been aware of it. Her own arms were around him, clinging to him like a weak, helpless female. Like someone who wanted to be in his arms. Absurd.

She suddenly knew that he was awake. That he'd been awake for some time now, and her circumspect behaviour had been a waste of time. "Let go of me," she said in a small, angry voice.

His hold on her didn't tighten, but she didn't make the mistake of thinking she had any chance of escape. Not until he was ready to release her. And he wasn't the slightest bit ready.

His hand slid over her jaw, smoothly, delicately, a caress that made her shiver in reaction as he tipped her face up.

"You survived the night, Miss," he said softly, "your chastity intact. Don't you believe I deserve a reward for my forbearance?"

Before Videl could tell him what he deserved, his mouth dropped down on hers, lightly, kissing her with brief thoroughness before she could pull her wits together to protest. Just when she was about to raise her hands and shove him, he rolled away from her, sitting up on the sagging bed and running a hand through his unruly hair.

A moment later, he glanced back at her, and there was a quizzical expression in his dark eyes. "My friends wouldn't believe it," he said.

"You have friends? That astonishes me."

He smiled, his usual mocking grin. "Still fighting? Maybe I should have taken you after all. You wouldn't be feeling quite so cocky. And I'd be feeling more so."

He surged off the bed, stretching his arms over his head, and for a moment she watched him, mesmerized. He was tall, endlessly tall, with long legs and arms and torso, lean and well-muscled, lithe and graceful. It was a crime for such a demon to be so attractive, she thought. It made everything so much harder.

"Dreaming of poisons, Miss?" he murmured. "You'll have to wait. For now I think a period of rustication is in order. We'll be charmingly bucolic; you can cook for me, I'll fish and be the perfect Saiyan gentleman. At night we'll sit around the fire and hold hands and talk about our happy life." He stood over her, looking down. "Are you going to loll about in bed all day, or are you going to fix me some breakfast?"

Something within her balked. "I'm your hostage, not your servant," she snapped.

"If you prefer to stay in bed, then I could always be persuaded to join you. I have other appetites you could fill."

Videl swiftly got out of bed, edging away from him.

"Much better," he said. "I'm certain you'd welcome coffee just as much as I would. And if last night's dinner was anything to go by, you've a rare talent when it comes to eggs. I've a powerful hunger, wench."

He was simply trying to goad her. Unfortunately, it was working. If she'd had anything handy, she would have thrown it at him. He seemed curiously lighthearted in that dark, ramshackle room, the glowing embers from the fire warring with the early-morning light. As if he'd shed a cloak of anger and cynicism during the night, and she had the sudden frightening thought that if he smiled at her, truly smiled at her, she might find him as charming as she had so long ago.

He must have known that it would demoralize her. He crossed the room with a swift determination that left her no time to run. He didn't touch her, which in itself was a surprise. He was always touching her, running his hand against her cheek, holding her arm, reminding her of her captivity. And of her strange vulnerability toward him. He was standing too close; he hadn't buttoned his shirt, and she wasn't sure which was the least dangerous place to rest her gaze: on his cynical, alarmingly attractive face, or on his smooth, muscled chest. Or lower still.

She decided his left shoulder was the safest place to focus her eyes. It was uncomfortably close to his mocking mouth, but far away from other, more seductive dangers.

"Why don't we call a temporary truce, Miss?" he said, and he sounded deceptively reasonable. "It will do you no good to fight me; if you push me too far, I'll simply tie you to the bed. You wouldn't enjoy that, even if I found it reasonably entertaining. Why don't we have one day of peace, before the battle starts again?"

Videl wondered whether it would do any good to beg him to release her. She doubted it. He wasn't a male given to acts of charity or forgiveness, and her indomitable pride was the only weapon she had left to her. If she abased herself, she would be truly defenceless.

"What do you want with me?" she asked again, unwilling to compromise.

He shrugged. "I really don't know, Miss. Maybe I'll let you go. Maybe I won't. I haven't decided."

"And you expect me to be a good little girl until you make up your mind to kill me."

"You needn't sound so incensed about the whole thing. You're the one who first introduced the notion of murder in our charming relationship."

"We don't have a relationship!" she shot back.

"Oh, there I disagree. We most definitely do have a relationship. I'm just not sure what kind it is. So what's your decision, Miss? Are we going to have a day of peace, or a day of war?"

She knew that to give in, even on such a small issue, was the first stop to ignominious defeat. But she was also mortally tired of fighting. Her body still felt treacherously warm and rested, and she knew it was simply the closeness of another body that had wiped out her defences. Any body would have had the same effect, she told herself. Not just his.

"One day," she said slowly. "On one condition."

Gohan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Trust you to have a condition. What is it?"

"That you don't touch me."

His mouth twisted in a cynical grin. "Not at all?"

"Not at all. I don't enjoy being pawed. Spare me for one day, and I'll forgo the pleasure of sticking a knife between your ribs."

"You don't have a knife."

"If you expect me to cook your meals, I'll need one."

"Point well taken. I suppose I can control my animal lusts for one day," he said, surveying her from beneath hooded eyes, making the very act seem both bored and insulting. "Any female can lie on her back and lift her skirts. Few of them can cook."

Videl simply stared at him stonily. "You promise?"

"I promise." He took another step closer to her, so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. Close enough to threaten her tenuous self-control, yet he didn't even brush against her. It was a very effective way of showing her that he didn't need to lay hands on her to touch her.

"What interests me, Miss, is how you manage to withstand my deliberate crudeness without an excess of maidenly blushes. I would have thought your years in a hostel would have made you even more prudish that Bulma."

"I've never been in a hostel in my life."

She'd hoped to shock him, to anger him, to startle him into moving away. Instead, he simply smiled that small, dangerous smile of his. "I know."

And then he turned away, and she would have gladly given the rest of her life to have one of Bulma's daggers in her hand. It took a moment, and the memory of her promise, for calm to reach her again. One day. Twenty-four hours. She could last that long, re-gather her strength and determination. Twenty-four hours to lull him into trusting her.

And then either she'd be gone or he'd be dead.

* * *

Kami, what a quixotic fool he was, Gohan thought hours later. He must have been half-shot when he'd decided to cart Bulma's little chef away with him. No, it wasn't alcohol he'd been indulging in; it was the aftereffects of poison lingering in his system that had blown his common sense to hell and back again.

Not, of course, that common sense had much to do with the way he usually conducted his life. Sharpener Pencille and his bitch of a wife were a good case in point. He should have kept away from Erasa from the very beginning, knowing she possessed both a brutalizing bully of a husband and a perverse taste of inciting him. Instead, he'd given in to the desire of the moment, and he'd been paying the consequences ever since.

Carting his murderous little captive off with him had been another major mistake, just as coming to Parsley City had been, and for the same reasons. He found both of them too damned seductive. Oh, not in the usual sense. He'd been truthful when he told Bulma's chef that any female could provide his body the ease it needed; he wasn't particular with whom he took to his bed, as long as she was free of disease and possessed of minimal beauty.

The little chef drew his body as any beauty would. But her fierceness, her courage, her indomitable nature drew his soul. It made him care about her, and he made it a basic tenet of his life never to care about anyone other than himself.

Parsley City was just as bad. He'd forgotten he loved the area, the smell of damp earth and fresh air and sunshine, away from the smells of overcrowded salons, filled with people who used heavy perfume to cover the odour of underwashed bodies. He'd grown inured to the heat and smells of Fire Mountain; it had fit well enough with his dark, cynical view of life and society.

But Parsley City was reminding him of light. Reminding him of a childhood not completely devoid of pleasure. And it made him yearn for it again, for the long-lost innocence that he could never regain. For the ability to breathe freely, to smile, to be happy. And his damned common sense told him those things were long gone in the dark turns his life had taken. There was no light, no happiness for the last of the mad Sons.

He couldn't even count on the chef for distraction. He'd found it interesting that she'd extracted that promise from him. Not that he had any intention of keeping it. He'd already informed her that he broke his promises. He simply wanted to wait long enough to lull her suspicions, so that when he touched her, her reaction would be all the more powerful.

She was extremely vulnerable to his touch, he knew that. Just as he'd come to the conclusion that of all the places she'd been before she came into Bulma's employ, a hostel wasn't one of them. It was too hard to shock her. She'd trotted out that information in hopes of goading him, and had failed miserably. That wouldn't keep her from trying. She didn't realize she was outmatched; no matter what weapons she used, he'd always master her. And one of the surest ways to do so was to touch her.

She didn't even recognise her own reaction. When he touched her round, perfect breasts, her nipples hardened in instinctive response. When he took her mouth, she wanted to kiss him back, even as she fought it and him. Her heart thudded, her skin grew flushed, her pulses raced. He'd bedded enough females to be intimately aware of the signs of arousal, but he'd never had a female so oblivious to her own responses.

Or perhaps she wasn't oblivious. Perhaps she was simply fighting them. As she was busy fighting him.

Perhaps that would be the revenge he'd take. Mastery of her body. He was adept at making love. He knew how to pleasure a female; it was one of his many skills. He could apply those skills to the fierce little chef, strip her of her virginity, her defences, her ferocious pride as he stripped her of her clothes. The thought was beguiling.

There was just one troublesome thought, one that didn't usually disturb his self-destructive absorption. What would he do with her when he finished?

He wouldn't think about that. Wouldn't consider the fact that he'd already destroyed her life by abducting her. He was responsible for no one but himself, and even that responsibility he took far too lightly.

The sun had risen, warming the land, and the incessant rain had finally let up. Time to catch some trout. Gohan took off in the late morning, heading in the direction of the fast-moving stream he'd first discovered when he was ten years old. And the chef watched him go.

She looked absurd, with those canary-bright, oversized clothes belted around her small body. He hadn't considered the difference in size between the women when he had had Tien pack some of Bulma's clothes. He simply hadn't wanted his little captive dressed in her drab chef's cloths.

She had to roll the sleeves up over her arms, belt the trailing skirts around her small waist. At least the colours suited her better than they did Bulma. She really was beautiful. Perhaps he might take the little chef to Fire Mountain with him, dress her as she ought to be dressed. In rich silks that skimmed her tempting body. And in jewels. She was a female made for diamonds, he thought, tramping through the thick growth.

Unfortunately, he wasn't a male to provide them. Even if he had the money, he wouldn't spend it on a female. But that might be the answer to her future. He could initiate her in the delights of the flesh, take her to Fire Mountain, and then pass her on to someone willing and able to keep her in a more luxurious style. All in all, it seemed like an eminently practical solution to the issue, one that would assuage what passed for his conscience.

Of course, leading Lady Bulma Brief's female chef and dear friend into the life of a demimonde might not be considered quite the thing in most quarters. But it surely would be a better life than that of a chef. At least she wouldn't have to remain belowstairs.

He found he didn't want to think about it. Didn't even want to think about whether she'd keep her word and be waiting at the derelict remains of the old hunting lodge. There were too many concomitant emotions, guilt and regret for taking her among them, to distract him from the beauty of the day. And he wasn't a male to waste his time on guilt and regret.

Right now, the trout and salmon were a great deal more important that the future of one murderous little chef. He'd deal with her, present or absent, when he returned.

The land around the small river had grown up in the many years since he'd last been there. Gohan, shirtless, stretched beneath a tree, the sun beating down, warming his bones. There was no rush to catch any fish; for now all he wished to do was empty his mind. The rest would come in time.

He dozed in the bright sunlight. It was several hours later when she came to him. She wasn't particularly silent in her approach. He heard her since the moment she left the lodge, moving stealthily through the thick undergrowth, and he allowed himself a wry smile. Doubtless she thought she was being extremely circumspect.

He didn't move, stretched out lazily in the sunlight as he considered the options. Had she decided to ignore their truce? He'd never known a female with a sense of honour before; it would be unlikely that one harbouring such murderous tendencies would be the first. Besides, he'd informed her point-blank that he didn't honour his own promises. Why should she consider herself honour-bound when he didn't?

She was panting slightly from exertion; he could hear the soft little sounds of her breathing over the rustle of the grass. Which meant she must be carrying something fairly heavy. It was rough going to the edge of the river, but he'd already trod the path down, and she was a strong, resilient young female.

She was closer than he'd realized, moving in his direction with a kind of reckless determination. He'd been a fool to leave such a well-marked path, he thought lazily, not even bothering to open his eyes. He'd been a fool to think he could even begin to trust her. His incipient demise was just as much the fault of his own stupidity as of her murderous intentions.

The brightness of the sun beyond his eyelids darkened, and he knew she was standing over him. He could feel her presence; smell the faint traces of roses. He didn't move.

"Gohan," she said, after a long pause.

He opened his eyes, seeing the chef standing there, a heavy basket in her hand, no weapon in sight.

He sat up, staring at her. She'd had a bath. She'd tortured her beautiful wet hair into a severe knot. Kami, she was beautiful, even with that unflattering hairstyle. Its starkness merely emphasized her heart-shaped face, the wide clarity of her remarkable eyes and the soft fullness of her mouth. Her mouth…

She'd changed into one of the day dresses they'd brought along, but she'd shortened the sleeves and hem with what he could only assume was the knife he'd left behind. The top two buttons were open at her throat, and those few inches of damp, creamy skin had to be the most erotic thing he'd seen in his life.

"You try my resolve, my little chef," he said slowly. "If I'm not allowed to touch you, you might at least make an effort not to look so delectable."

She blushed prettily. It astonished him. He wouldn't have thought her capable of such a thing. The colour faded as quickly as it appeared, and once more she had a stern expression that subdued the piquant beauty of her face. "I brought you some luncheon."

"Did you, indeed? How very thoughtful," he drawled. "What summoned up this excess of charity in your bleak little soul?" He reached out his hand for the basket.

She made no move to give it to him. "I wouldn't be passing judgement on the state of my soul if I were you. Your own isn't in any too spotless a condition."

"True enough." He gave up waiting for her to pass the basket to him, pulling it from her hand and delving through it. "This is quite a bit of food. Would I be too brashly optimistic to hope you might be planning to share it with me?"

She looked uncomfortable. "I didn't know I had any choice in the matter. Would you trust my cooking?"

"Not in the slightest," he said. "Are you going to continue to loom over me, or are you going to sit?"

She sat down gracefully. She probably assumed she was out of his reach, and he forbore to inform her that she would never be out of his reach for long. He could move faster than she ever could, if he so desired. He was merely biding his time.

"I didn't have much to work with," she said defensively, as he pulled out warm bean bread and cheese. She'd included one of the bottles of wine from the case Tien had packed, and he wondered whether she hoped to get him drunk. It would take more than one bottle to put him under the table.

They ate in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the rushing river, slightly swollen after the rains, the faint breeze in the leaves overhead. It was an odd silence, Gohan thought, watching her out of hooded eyes as he lazily consumed the best meal he'd eaten in many years. Considering they were mortal enemies, considering that she feared and hated him, it was surprisingly peaceful sitting by the bank of the river with her.

And then he broke that peace, not wilfully but effectively nonetheless. "Why don't you tell me how you came to be with Bulma, working belowstairs?" he said. "Since you've admitted a hostel had no part in your life."

Her face turned white. He'd never seen that happen, though he'd certainly heard about the phenomenon. She already had porcelain-fair skin anyway, with a faint touch of rose in her high cheekbones. Now she looked ashen.

"A day's truce does not mean I'll prove you with entertainment," she managed to say in a tight little voice.

She was going to provide him with more than entertainment, but he wasn't in the mood to point that out to her.

"Do you want any wine?" he asked instead. "You forgot to bring mugs, so you'll have to share the bottle." He took a long drink.

"No, thank you…" She began to rise, but he caught her wrist, holding her still.

"Have some wine," he said in a deceptively gentle voice.

She didn't move. "You promised you wouldn't touch me."

"Do as I ask, and I'll release you."

She glared at him, her huge eyes burning with tightly supressed rage. The irises were small in the bright sunlight, and once could drown in the turbulent blue depths, if once was feeling fanciful. He wasn't the fanciful type.

"One drink, Miss, and I'll release you."

She took the bottle in her free hand, brought it up to her mouth, and took an impressively healthy gulp. He watched with mixed feelings. He'd half-hoped she would continue to defy him, enable him to prolong the confrontation.

He released her wrist, when he wanted nothing more than to pull her down against him, and his smile was cool and bland. "That wasn't so difficult, was it? Life is a great deal simpler when you choose to cooperate."

She rose to her feet, knocking over the wine. He watched the dark liquid disappear into the ground with only a trace of regret.

"I will never cooperate," she said. "I will never compromise."

"What do you call our truce?"

She was out of reach, at least temporarily, and he chose to let her go. She smiled then, and her icy determination would have quelled a lesser man, even a Saiyan. "Lulling my victim," she snapped. She turned and walked away, without another word.

Leaving Gohan to stare after her in silent admiration.

* * *

Videl's hands were shaking as she moved through the thick growth, away from the river. Away from her smug, dangerous captor. It astonished her, his ability to enrage and disturb her. She'd had other enemies in her life; cruel, evil, implacable enemies. She'd learned the trick of turning inward, of silencing her emotions with reactions, of facing those enemies with cool determination. So why did Gohan Son destroy her self-control?

The woods were ancient and beautiful, with the sunlight shining down through the leaves, dappling the forest. It reminded her of the woods near her home, with its ancient oaks and chestnut trees, the smell of the damp, spring-renewed earth, the lazy sound of baby birds demanding a meal. If only she could return to that peaceful time and place. If only she had cherished it, instead of taking it for granted with the self-absorption of youth.

The woods thinned out into a clearing, and the grass was spring-green and soft. She sank to her knees, then lay down, facefirst, absorbing the smell and the warmth of it into her bones. She'd hadn't been that close to the earth since she'd left Satan City.

She rolled over on her back, staring up into the bright sunlight of a perfect day. If only she could empty her mind, empty her soul, simply drink in the glory of nature.

But instead the memories returned, the memories she'd pushed away so assiduously during the intervening years. They attacked only at night, in her dreams, when her defences had vanished. In daylight, she was too strong to give in to them, too strong to relive the panic and grief and despair.

But today was different. Today, lying on the soft grass with the sweet-smelling woods all around her, she would let the memories return. Because if she didn't, she might forget. Her resolution would fail. And when Gohan put his hands on her, his mouth on her, she might make the foolish mistake of wanting it. And then there'd be no help for her at all.

There was probably a simple enough explanation for her current weakness. Life had grown comparatively easy during the last few years. The time she had spent at the Green Dragon, learning to cook, had had its own timeless tranquillity, a kind of numbness that had made many years pass almost without her noticing. The shabby inn had become a home of sorts, even within the hated confines of Satan City.

Much as she wanted to, she would never forget the terrible night she had first stumbled in there, bone-weary, the last tears drained from her body, the last ounce of hope gone. She had been standing on the bridge for hours in the pouring rain, staring down into the muddy, fast-moving depths of the river, waiting. Waiting for the final burst of energy that would have sent her over, tumbling to her death in the water.

* * *

The rain had washed the blood from her hands, Yamu's blood. It had soaked her clothes and run down her back in icy rivulets. She had gone as far as she could go, and now there was no hope. She had become one of them. And that knowledge had been the death knell for her soul.

There had been so many nights. So many horrible nights. The night she and Lucifer had finally arrived in the heart of Satan City, only to find the bloated corpse of their uncle swinging gently above the streets. The night Yamu had sold her to Madame Ushio, who in turn had auctioned her off to the highest bidder, a raddled Saiyan nobleman with a powerful body and a taste for cruelty.

At first she'd been drugged into submission, and she'd watched it all from a distance, almost as if it were happening to someone else. At the time she'd been grateful, absurdly grateful that she had that buffer. Until she'd seen him.

They were leading her upstairs, to await the high bidder's eager visit, when she glanced blankly into one of the side rooms. Two of the young girls were there, with a fully dressed man and they were laughing, the three of them, looking curiously young and carefree. The sound of their laughter had broken through her stupor and she'd made a strangled sound of protest.

They must have heard her. The man turned to look, and he wasn't a man, he was a boy, one of almost angelic beauty. Gohan Son. He was drunk, and he stared at her without recognition as they hauled her away, but beneath the rough hands that gagged her, she'd screamed his name. And then he'd turned back to the two girls, and the laughter had sounded again.

The dissolute Saiyan nobleman not only had a taste for virgins, he also preferred that they fight him. She lay tied to the bed, awaiting him, until the drug wore off. She lay long enough to still hear the laughter, and the sounds that followed that laughter, the groans and thumps and rhythmic sounds that were foreign to her, and the pain in her heart solidified into a knot of hatred so intense it burned through her. It wasn't the monster who took her maidenhead a few hours later who earned that hatred. Instead, she focused on Gohan Son, who disported in one of Satan City's brothels' while she was being debauched.

If she hadn't forgotten him, at least she'd kept herself from thinking of him during the intervening years. His betrayal had run deep, but her need to care for Lucifer, to try to find her parents, had been too overwhelming for her to indulge in her own heartbroken anger.

She no longer had that luxury. As she lay in that soft bed, bleeding and defiled, she had no one to think of but herself. And no one to blame but Gohan Son.

Madame Ushio had underestimated her. "Master Rhubol was most pleased with you last night, little girl," she crooned as she unfastened her wrists. "Even though your maidenhead is gone, he still considers you a valuable commodity. He can be very generous to us both, dear. You will find this life much more to your fancy than you ever imagined."

Videl hadn't said a word; she'd simply stared at the old harridan with dark hatred in her eyes.

Madame Ushio was unimpressed. "Of course, you mustn't be too enthusiastic about the comforts. One of the things Master Rhubol found most appealing about you was the way you struggled against him. I doubt he'd appreciate compliance. Unless, of course, he was able to properly train you into it. And you needn't fear that the rest of your working life will involve only people like Master Rhubol. To be sure, the Saiyans make up the bulk of our guests, but we entertain all ages. And the young Saiyan last night was asking about you; it seems you've become quite popular with them."

The comment roused Videl from her tight, controlled rage. "What young Saiyan?" Her voice came out raw and almost unrecognizable, the first coherent words she had spoken since Yamu had dragged her into the house.

Madame Ushio halted in her efforts to until Videl's ankles, staring at her in frank curiousity. "You speak like an aristo," she said. "Had I known, I could have held out for a higher price." She sounded patently disgruntled. "But then, the price you fetched was good enough. And you needn't worry your pretty little head about what young Saiyan. You're to be kept for Master Rhobul's exclusive use for as long as he wishes. He grows bored easily; chances are you'll be able to accommodate other patrons within several weeks, but by then the young Saiyan gentleman would have left Satan City. He was easily distracted when I said you were otherwise engaged. Don't worry; there will be other handsome young Saiyans to compensate you for the ones like Master Rhobul."

The one brief flare of hope had died, smashed inside her. He'd seen her. He hadn't recognized her, she knew that, but something about her had caught his eye. It hadn't been a latent memory. It hadn't been sudden concern for a helpless victim. It had been a passing wave of lust, easily diverted.

She sat up in the bed, her mind moving at a rapid pace. First and foremost, she had to get away from this place, back to Lucifer. And to do so would require every ounce of her intelligence and cunning.

"I imagine," she said slowly, "that I would find the experience more pleasant with a handsome young male." She coarsened her voice just slightly. Too much so would have been unbelievable. Instinct was taking over, telling her that subtlety could be her greatest ally.

Madame Ushio beamed at her. "I knew you were a smart one. You'll do well at this life if you can come to terms with it, and there's no better life for a woman. You get paid for what men would take from you for free, and you learn how to master them. How to make men do what you want. You learn to take your pleasure where you can find it, and you can live a comfortable life of leisure. A few hours of work on your back every night is better than slaving all day in a dress shop."

"I can't sew."

"You see. You've made a wise choice, my dear. You'll go far in this business, see if I'm not right."

Videl never said a word. Made the right choice, had she? Choice had never come into play since she'd been dragged into this wicked place. But she would choose: never again would she be a helpless victim.

It took her two days to escape. Two days of enduring the Saiyan nobleman's return visits, two days of enduring the vicious cruelties with which he assaulted her body. Two days of listening to his fulsome compliments, his moans of pleasure. Two days of pain and degradation disguised as an act of love.

He'd smiled blearily at her as he'd rolled away. "Damn if I don't take you with me," he panted, and Videl knew he was extremely tired. "You've quite won my heart, my angel." He reached over and stroked her cheek, and it took all her self-control not to flinch. "I have friends who'd appreciate a fine little thing like you. And I've always enjoyed watching."

He sat up, his back to her as he panted slightly. She lay there, watching his taut skin, unmarred. She glanced down at her own body, degraded by his, and her resolve strengthened.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said, reaching down for his clothes. "You're still a bit reluctant, but I've always liked that in a wench. I'm very good at teaching obedience. I don't know when I've been quite so enamoured of a slut."

The huge vase was made of heavy, cheap porcelain. Had she used one of the delicate vases that had decorated her manor, it would have hardly slowed him down. The hideous cracking sound as she brought it down on his head sounded like a skull splitting, and he slid onto the floor without a sound.

She wondered if she'd killed him. She scrambled off the bed to stare at him, but despite an expression of faint surprise on his face, he seemed to be sound asleep.

A shame, that. She wanted to kill him. As it was, she had no choice but to leave him, slumped naked on the floor. She paused only long enough to dump the contents of the chamber pot in his lap.

She had no clothes but the white night rail he delighted in ripping off her. She took his clothes instead, the baggy pants and billowing shirt dwarfing her small body. She climbed out the window, she who was deathly afraid of heights, not even noticing that she had to drop two flights to the filthy alleyway below.

She twisted her ankle when she landed, but she made no sound. Moments later she was hobbling off into the darkness, searching for her brother.

During their weeks on the street, she and Lucifer had kept to themselves, wisely trusting no one. The one exception had been a ragpicker known by one and all as Old Roshi. He plied his way through the streets, pulling a cart behind him, trading and selling odd pieces of refuse. The man was ageless.

He'd been kind to Lucifer, giving the fretful boy a crust of bread when he could have used it himself, warning Videl when a group of marauding citizens had stumbled drunkenly through the streets nearby, looking for anyone worth butchering.

In return, she'd brought Old Roshi bits and pieces of things that he could find a buyer for, asking nothing in return. A strange friendship had grown between them. If anyone knew where Lucifer was, he would.

It took her another day and a half to find them. And in the end, she found them in the worst place of all.

She avoided the large area where Dr Gero's guillotine and the pyres were placed assiduously during the weeks in the heart of Satan City. Every day she heard the names of people who'd been beheaded and burned. But on this day she couldn't keep away. This was the day he parents were among those scheduled to die.

She wasn't sure what drew her to that blood-drenched place. Perhaps her parents would have preferred to go to their inevitable deaths thinking she was safe, far away from the horror that was Satan City.

But she had no choice. For her own sake she had to be there. To be with them, in love and sorrow. She couldn't let them die surrounded by a vengeful mob, with no one to weep for them.

* * *

They didn't see her as they rode in the tumbrel, amid the jeers of the blood-crazed onlookers. They didn't see her as they climbed on to the pyre and for that she was glad. She held her breath as the pyre was set alight, but there were no tears. Her tears were gone.

She heard the scream, a short, shrill one, ending in sudden silence. And across the crowded square she saw the figure of her brother, struggling as Old Roshi tried to restrain him.

Another victim was forced onto a pyre, and the crowd paid no attention to the disruption in the square. It took her a long time to reach him, but by the time she caught Lucifer in her arms, he was silent. She never heard him speak again.

Between the two of them, she had Old Roshi kept him fed and warm. He responded to nothing, having vanished into a childlike world where he could barely take care of his bodily functions. She'd even managed to find a few zenny for a doctor, but the man had simply shaken his head, helpless to aid Lucifer. Shock, he'd said, could do that to a mind. The boy had retreated someplace safe, where no one could harm him. And only Kami knew whether he'd ever emerge from that self-imposed cocoon.

She'd done her best to protect him, watching over him, with barely enough to eat as winter closed in around them. Until Old Roshi came to her with a gentle suggestion.

"There is no food," he'd said.

Videl had laughed bitterly. "Tell me something new. There's been no food for days."

"There have been scraps. Crumbs, most of which you've fed your brother. It's November now. Your brother will freeze to death on the streets. Most days he doesn't even remember to put on his cloak. He needs shoes, he needs a blanket, he needs decent food. As do you."

She had held herself very still, knowing in her heart what was coming next. She hadn't told Old Roshi where she had been during those lost two days in July, but he was old and wise as time, and he had to have known. And that it hadn't been her choice.

She'd grown hard, cold in the last few months. The only love she had in her heart was for Lucifer. Even Old Roshi she barely tolerated, and only if he didn't touch her. As he was a man who didn't care much for other human beings either, they managed well enough.

"You are not telling me anything I don't already know," she said quietly. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"The obvious one. You have something you could sell. In the streets of Satan City, few people are fortunate enough not to sell whatever they can."

"Be quiet," she snapped, casting a worried glance at Lucifer. His clothes were ragged, torn, and there was nothing but childlike blankness in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Videl. His ears may hear, but his mind cannot. He won't know if you decide to sell your body on the streets to feed and clothe him."

It was said, out in the open. Suddenly she could feel the Saiyan nobleman, panting and sweating on top of her, his breath on her face, his hands hurting, hurting…

"No!" she cried, the protest torn from her.

Old Roshi had merely shrugged. "I forgot. An aristo had standards."

"I would kill," she said, her voice flat and full of despair. "I would stab people and steal their purses. I would rob the corpses of my family. But I cannot sell myself on the streets. I would go mad."

"Murdering pickpockets seldom make enough to feed themselves, much less three people," Old Roshi pointed out.

A bizarre sense of humour surfaced. "You expect to live off the rewards of my whoredom?"

"It's logical. I can find the customers, make certain you're safe."

"You can protect me?" Her laugh was cold as ice.

"No one can protect you. No one can protect any of us. But I can help. You survived once, don't bother to deny it. I've lived on the streets of Satan City for too long not to have an idea of what happened to you when you disappeared this summer. You survived, but you failed to prosper. You can do it again, this time for a good cause."

"Damn you, I can't…" Her cry of protest was interrupted by Lucifer's sudden hacking cough.

"He needs a blanket," Old Roshi said, his cracked voice pitiless. "He needs warm soup and medicine. He'll die, sooner or later. And he'll die before you do; he's much weaker. Do you want to witness that?"

Videl shivered. It was cold, so very cold. She thought back to Madame Ushio, with her smug face and fine sheets, and she thought of her customers. Of the raddled Saiyan nobleman with his taste for pain. Of Gohan Son, glancing at her and dismissing her as a faceless prostitute.

"I won't go back there," she said fiercely.

"You don't have to go anywhere. Mister Takanari at the butcher shop asked me whether you might be amenable to earning a little money. You would go to his house, and he would pay you." If he had been sympathetic or kind, she would have refused. As it was, he was only matter-of-fact. "An hour or less, Videl. Lying on your back, thinking about all the ways you could spend a few extra zenny. How can you refuse?"

She wondered. And then she knew that she wouldn't, couldn't refuse. If she had survived being bound and raped, she could survive Mister Takanari's gruff pleasures. He was not a cruel man; he occasionally gave her a scrap or two of meat for her brother, and his eyes were sad, not evil. She could take his money, and survive.

In the end, she did it three times. Twice with Mister Takanari, when the hunger grew too bad and Lucifer's bones began to show through his pale, dirt-streaked skin. She had cause to bless the childlike silence that had descended upon him. He need never know the shame his sister had chosen.

The third time was the final one, and she was never certain if it counted with the sins engraved on her soul or not, since the act wasn't completed. It hardly mattered. She'd lost her soul long ago.

"I won't," she told Old Roshi, when he'd informed her someone else had demanded her services. "Mister Takanari is one thing. He's a kind man, and he finishes quickly. He expects nothing of me. I won't go to a stranger…"

"Mister Takanari was taken today," Old Roshi said wearily, too inured to show sorrow or dismay. "He was denounced by a member of the neighbourhood committee. They don't waste their time with people like Takanari. More fodder for Dr Gero's guillotine."

Videl accepted his fate with nothing more than a shrug, dismissing a man who, in his way, had tried to be kind. "So you have already found a replacement," she said.

Old Roshi shook his head. "Not exactly. The man who denounced Takanari. He had his reasons."

Videl felt the first tiny trickles of fear penetrate her defences. "They were?"

"Takanari's shop is a thriving business. The man wanted it. He also wanted you."

She didn't flinch. "I imagine the prosperous shop was a greater enticement," she said flatly. "I refuse to take responsibility…"

"Stupid aristo!" Old Roshi spat. "This is not a game. The man is dangerous. He's asked for you. You cannot say no."

"I can! I can choose."

"He'll find you. He's a powerful man, growing more powerful every day. He's one of the leaders of the new society, adept at stabbing a neighbour in the back, at finding a weakness. He's already risen far in the revolutionary government. There'll be no stopping him."

"I won't…"

"You will. You will go to his house, and you will do anything he asks of you. If you don't, Lucifer will die."

"How could he even know of us? Of me, of Lucifer?"

"You're a distinctive sight, Videl. For all that you stay in the shadows, the people know of the aristo and her brother, hiding in the night. You're far too pretty, even in your rags, to escape notice. And the man makes it his business to know everything. Don't think you can protect Lucifer either. You can protect no one from this man. The best you can hope for is to appease him."

Once more she glanced at Lucifer. His eyes were closed, his matted black hair obscuring his filthy face as he leaned against the wall, his thin chest rising and falling with the effort of breathing. Every word would have reached his ears. She hoped and prayed that Old Roshi was right, that none of it reached his mind.

"When?" she asked, knowing she had no choice. "Where?"

"Takanari's old house. He's already taken possession. Tonight. You don't know the man, but don't be fooled if he pretends to be pleasant. He's a wolf who'd tear your throat out for pleasure. Watch yourself."

"And who is this wolf?" she asked wearily.

"His name," said Old Roshi, "is Yamu."

* * *

It took Videl a moment to realize where she was. Lying on her back in a meadow, the sun bright overhead, the sweet smell of spring flowers teasing her senses. The ground was hard beneath her, but no harder than the streets of Satan City. The sun was warm, blessedly so, and the sky was very blue. The dark city streets were long gone. She would never have to set foot in Satan City again.

For the first time she welcomed the truce Gohan had called. If she had no sense of honour she could be well on her way, out of his reach, and for some reason she was loath to go. She knew enough about hiding from an implacable, rapacious enemy to get away from him. But she'd given her word, and she intended to abide by it. Besides, this day of peace, of warmth and sunshine and nature, was giving her back something she'd lost long ago.

She sat up, staring around her with simple pleasure.

She'd never though much about the future; life was something to be gotten through, one day at a time, and to repine would be just as deadly as to hope.

But if the winds of fate were kind, she would like to live in the country. Someplace devoid of people, a place with trees and flowers and birds, with the smell of fresh earth and swift-flowing water.

She liked this place. The purple-blue mountains in the distance, the ancient trees, the rocky soil. It was unlike any place she'd ever been; both lonely and peaceful. She could be happy in a place like this.

Videl had no idea whether it was he season for berries, but she rose unhurriedly to her feet. Her hair had come undone from its tight knot, falling down her back in soft waves. There were no berries, but there were flowers. She knelt down, bringing her face close to inhale the fragrance, loath to end its short sweet life by plucking it, when she heard a familiar, infuriating drawl.

"How charmingly bucolic, Miss," Gohan said. "If I knew you were longing for rural pleasures, we could have stopped sooner."

She didn't move, unwilling to give him that satisfaction, but the scent of the flower sharpened, growing acrid. She rose, slowly, looking at him across the short expanse of clearing.

"Did you catch anything?" It was a polite question, but he merely shook his head, advancing on her like a predator, and her wariness exploded into sudden panic.

"Not until this moment," he said, his voice deep.

Videl stumbled backward when he reached her, desperate to avoid him. "You gave me your word you wouldn't touch me," she said, not caring that her voice showed her fear much too clearly.

His smile was narrow and very dangerous. "What can I say? As usual, I lied."

* * *

Thank you for the lovely reviews!

-Rhen-chan


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

She looked frightened, staring at him out of huge, blue eyes. She seldom showed fear, but this moment was different. Her defences had momentarily fled, and Gohan told himself he was glad. The small trace of compunction he felt was easily ignored.

"I'm only going to kiss you, Miss," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the voice he used for calming restive horses and nervous women. He was very good at using that voice; few women could resist its seductive purr.

Bulma's chef was made of sterner stuff, of course. He expected no less of her. She continued to back away from him, as if he were the fiend incarnate, something he'd expect of a weaker soul. She wasn't a female who was easily cowed; anyone who used poison so effectively was hardly a shrinking violet. But there was something about him that shook her. That knowledge pleased him immensely.

"You promised," she said again, still backing away.

"I have no honour, I warned you of that," he said, advancing steadily. "Besides, it's a beautiful afternoon, there's a soft breeze and a lovely woman nearby. It's too much for even the saintliest soul to resist."

"And you're hardly the-" She tripped as she moved backward, and he caught her as she fell, pulling her up against him with only the lightest of clasps. She struggled, but he knew a token struggle when he felt one. She was capable of much more force.

"Just one kiss," he said, putting his fingers under her chin and tilting her head up to meet his mouth. She held very still as his lips tasted hers, but he could feel the faint tremor that ran through her small, strong body, and he wondered idly what caused it. Hatred? Desire?

He lifted his head to look down at her. Her eyes were closed, and her face looked white, strained. "Open your mouth," he said softly. "The sooner you give in, the sooner it will be over. It's nothing more than a simple kiss."

It required only the slightest pressure of his fingers to make her open her mouth, and he kissed her slowly, leisurely, with all the expertise he had at his command. She stood in his arms, if not acquiescent, at least not fighting him. Her body was stiff at first, and then slowly grew more pliant, her hips tilting up against his with the light encouragement of his hand at the small of her back, her perfect breasts through the thin layers of clothing pressing against his chest. He could hear the lazy buzz of bees in the background, the distant song of birds, and the wind rustled through the leaves overhead as he kissed her, until she was shaking, until he was shaking, until he wanted to push her down in the sweet-smelling grass and tear away her clothes and his, until he wanted to find comfort in the sweet danger of her body.

He was never quite certain what stopped him.

Surely not a lack of desire; he was ready to burst if she even touched him.

Maybe it was the way her hands tightened on his shoulders in helpless pleading. Maybe it was the softness of her body and the ferocity of her soul. Maybe for once in his life he wanted to do the decent thing.

Gohan released her slowly, breaking the kiss first, trailing his mouth across her cheek until he knew she could stand without falling. Until he knew he could stand without falling. And then he stepped back.

"You see," he said in a voice that sounded completely unmoved. "Nothing but a simple kiss."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at him in shock and dismay. An odd reaction, to be sure, to something as commonplace as a kiss, he thought.

"If that was a simple kiss," she said, "I can't imagine what a complicated one would be like."

"I could always show you," he quipped, reaching for her, but she was quick this time, dancing out of his reach. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the house. If you've failed to provide us with fish for dinner, I'm going to have to do something about it myself. That ancient chicken Tien brought back will take hours before it's edible."

"I suppose you'll want me to wring its neck," he said in a long-suffering tone.

Her smile was just slightly unsettling. "Not at all. I'm very good at killing… chickens."

Gohan couldn't help it, he let out a shout of laughter, one free of the darkness that usually hovered around him. "Just so long as you don't poison the poor creature."

She was staring at him as if she'd never seen him before, her huge eyes wide and wary, her delectable mouth open in surprise. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Why are you looking so stricken?" he asked, still uncharacteristically good-humoured. "Did I discover your foul plan? If you'll pardon the pun."

He couldn't coax an answering smile from her at his dreadful joke. She simply stared at him, ashen-faced. And then she turned and ran.

He was half-tempted to chase after her, his barbaric Saiyan side was demanding he do so, but he kept still as she raced across the meadow, her skirts and dark hair flying behind her. She looked like a wood sprite; innocent, delectable, and he knew if he chased her, he'd catch her all too easily. He wasn't ready to do that, as he felt his light mood darken once more.

For one brief moment, she'd come surprisingly close to kissing him back. Perhaps he'd be able to coax an even more enthusiastic response from her as the shadows lengthened. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted her enthusiasm. It was the most obvious revenge of all, seducing the hate-filled chef, stripping her clothes, her anger, her defences away, until she was lying entwined with him, panting, breathless, sated and disarmed. It would be far too easy.

He knew how to make a female respond to him; he was adept at it, and even someone as murderously vengeful as the little chef wouldn't be able to withstand him for long.

He smiled mirthlessly. As a talent, seduction ranked somewhere above skill with cards and a step below fighting. He possessed those two talents as well. Why wasn't the world his to command?

His earlier, equable mood had vanished with daylight as he made his way back to the decrepit hovel that had once been a Saiyan gentleman's elegant hunting lodge. Smoke was issuing from the chimney, the ripe smell of wood smoke teasing the air, and he realized it had grown chilly once more. He paused, staring at the ruined house, and wondered whether, if things had been different, he could have saved it. And then he shrugged. The damage had been done long ago, decades of neglect taking their toll and the fire being the final straw. His martinet of a father had been uninterested in frivolous pleasures such as hunting, and the mad Sons weren't noted for the care they gave their property.

What would it take to put the place in good heart again? More than he possessed, that was certain. He wasn't sure why he'd held on to the place; it was patently absurd when you considered the five hundred acres of prime hunting and fishing land that surrounded the building. He could have sold it time and again to pay a portion of his monumental debts, to stake himself to a new round of gaming. But he hadn't, and he could only blame an errant sentimental streak.

There was no room in his life for sentiment, for warmth or weakness. The beauty of the countryside had almost tricked him into thinking otherwise. By now he should have learned that the only thing he could count on was himself.

One thing was for certain; he wasn't going to spend another chaste night in bed with the chef. He was going to seduce her out of her murderous intent and then abandon her. His earlier fancy of taking her back to Fire Mountain was discarded. She was having a demoralizing effect on him. He was starting to care about her. And he had no intention of caring about anyone.

He noticed no sign of Tien, a fact which both pleased and disturbed him.

The chicken might have been old and tough, but it certainly smelled wonderful when he stepped into their makeshift room. Bulma's chef was at the far end, eyeing him warily, and he noticed with passing regret that she'd bundled her silky dark hair behind her.

He was tired of waiting. She was there, at his mercy, and he wanted her. Why should he hesitate? He'd always prided himself on a total lack of decency; urges and desires were to satisfy, and to hell with the cost. He couldn't afford to weaken now. If he showed Bulma's chef any pity, he'd end up with a stomach full of poison.

He might very well end up that way despite his best efforts. It only made sense to enjoy what his hopeful executioner had to offer. Even reluctant, her mouth was very sweet.

Gohan made up his mind. No substitute would do. It was the little chef he wanted writhing beneath him, taking him into her tight, fierce little body. It was the little chef he would have.

* * *

Videl knew that her time had run out. She accepted that fact with determined fatalism. So he would take her body. It was only to be expected. If she had any sense at all, she'd be glad of it, joyful that he was giving her even more cause for her bitter hatred of him. At a time when that hatred was faltering, she needed all the fury she could muster.

If only he hadn't smiled. Today had been a disaster from start to finish, an assault on her determination and her defences. The dark satyr had disappeared, replaced by a world-weary Saiyan gentleman with a dangerous sense of humour and a smile that would melt the heart of a gorgon. While she had done her best to harden her own heart, a part of it was still ominously vulnerable, and his smile had been sunshine to her winter soul.

But there was no smile on his face now, no lightness. If she hadn't known otherwise, she would have though he'd spent the last hours closeted with a brandy bottle. The warmth of the afternoon, the innocence of a country meadow had vanished into something dark and twisted. And she told herself she welcomed the darkness. There would be no danger of succumbing.

"I'm tired of waiting," he said, and Videl could detect faint traces of contempt in his deep voice.

She held herself very still. The water surrounding the chicken carcass was too far from boiling to do any lasting damage, and she wasn't certain of the extent of her strength. How far could she hurl the cast iron? To be sure, if she managed to bring it down over his head, she might very well manage to surprise him and run, but he was a great deal taller than she was, and she didn't think she could reach that high. And she couldn't very well ask him to bend down and present a better target, could she?

She was not defenceless, she thought. No, she was never defenceless. As long as she had her wits and her tongue, she could still fight him off.

"No," she said. "Don't come any closer."

The sheer reasonableness of her statement startled him in the midst of his dangerous progress. If she could just stall him until the water boiled, she might have a fighting chance.

"No?" he echoed. "I don't think you have any say in the matter."

"Is rape one of your many hobbies? I knew you were despicable, but I assumed even you might have some standards."

His smirk wasn't reassuring. "I've never raped anyone in my life," he said, advancing slowly. "I decided it was time for a new experience. If it comes to that. I don't believe it will."

Videl wanted to explode with fury. "You think I'll give in willingly? You think I'm fool enough to be besotted with you, so that all you have to do is touch me and I'll melt?"

"No. I think you're an eminently practical female who knows I'm a great deal stronger than she is. Fighting would be a waste of time. Particularly when I'm coming to the conclusion that your maidenhead isn't at stake here."

Videl found she could match his mockery. "You mean you doubt my innocence? How insulting!"

"You couldn't have survived long as a servant without losing your virginity. It's of no importance to me."

"I'm so glad you still find me worthy of your attentions," she said, her tongue like acid. A stray shimmer was forming in the water in the pot. A few more minutes and it would be a full, rolling boil. "If you're expecting an array of erotic talents, I fear you'll be sadly disappointed."

"I don't," he said, and he was too close. "Obviously your experiences haven't left you with any particular affection for the sport. You fight your own responses every time I touch you."

"I fight _you_!"

Gohan shrugged, his smile dark and mocking. "If you insist. You can tell yourself anything that will make you happy. That the soft little sounds you will make are sounds of protest. That the way your body will clench around mine is in revulsion. That you only kiss me because you must. It matters not to me."

Almost boiling. Videl edged closer to the stove, hoping the move seemed natural, a concerned chef checking on the dinner. "If you touch me, I'll fight you," she said fiercely, testing the weight of the pot with a surreptitious movement. It was so damnably heavy!

"If I touch you, you'll succumb. Allow me to demonstrate." He'd reached her. The bed was just behind him, and she knew he could drag her over there quite easily and take her with all the finesse and speed of the butcher in Satan City.

"Touch me and I'll kill you." She could at least tip the pot, splashing the boiling water against his legs. Against hers as well, but the pain would be worth it, and she'd be poised to run while he took the brunt of the boiling soup.

"So you have said, innumerable times," Gohan replied patiently. "But you know, my sweet little chef, it might just be worth it."

Videl moved with lightning speed, tipping the heavy pot forward. It barely moved, her wrist caught in a bone-crushing grip as he hauled her away from her only weapon.

"I'm on to you, Miss," he said.

"It will be rape," she said in a wild fury.

"No," he answered. "It won't."

She survived the fierce possession of his kiss. She survived his overpowering strength, as he pulled her to the bed, pushing her down and covering her flailing limbs with his strong body. She survived the touched of his hands on her breasts, the feel of his arousal against her stomach. But Videl couldn't survive the sudden gentleness, the slow start of heat in her stomach, the warmth in her breasts, the damnable yearning that blossomed in her heart.

Gohan lifted his head and looked down at her, and his eyes glittered in the dim light. "You see, Miss? No rape at all."

He leaned forward to kiss her again, and she knew that if his lips touched hers one more time, she would be lost. She jerked her head away from him, wondering at the unexpected tightness in her throat, the burning at the back of her eyes.

"If you do this," she said, "I won't worry about killing you."

His smile was infuriatingly smug. "I thought not."

"I will kill myself."

It stopped him, at least for a moment. Her statement was brief, implacable; and at the moment she meant every word of it. He was wise enough to know that.

"I can stop you," he said, his voice stripped of passion.

Slowly, Videl shook her head. "You might be able to stop me from killing you. It would be a great deal harder to stop me from killing myself. There are cliffs, rivers and oceans. I could jump out of a fast-moving carriage. I could kill myself with a knife faster than you could imagine. There are parts of the body where one bleeds freely and quickly, bringing a swift end. You couldn't stop me."

Still he didn't move. His hands rested against her breasts but they weren't caressing, and his expression was bleak. "What makes you think I would care?"

She'd won, and she knew it. Videl smiled bitterly. "You wouldn't. But you might have a care for your own limited conscience. Late at night, I would haunt you. I would drive you mad."

"My little chef," he said wearily, " that would be nothing you haven't already done to me." He moved his hands from her breasts, running them up her body to cradle her stubborn face. "And I'm not sure that it wouldn't be worth it."

He put his moth on hers then, damp, wet, and open, and kissed her, slowly, carefully, using his tongue, and she wanted to cry out in agony and grief. She raised her hands to push at his broad shoulders, knowing it would be fruitless against his heartless determination. But instead, her hands slid around his neck, pulling him closer, and for the first time in her life, she kissed him back.

It was a wonder. She felt as if she were floating, lost in the feel of his lips on hers, the shocking intimacy of his tongue in her mouth, more intimate than anything she'd endured during her enforced couplings. She wanted to dissolve, to lose herself in the seductive wonder of his mouth possessing hers. She wanted it never to stop, to last forever in a billowing cloud of passion without end.

Tien's cough broke through the dreamlike haze that surrounded her. "Gohan…"

"Get the hell out of here, Tien," Gohan growled, not bothering to look at his intrusive servant. "Now!"

"Unfortunately, that's not something I'm prepared to do. We've got trouble, and there's not time for dallying."

For a moment Gohan dropped his head beside hers, burying his face in her hair, and she could hear his laboured breathy as he struggled to bring himself back under control. And then he bounded from the bed, abandoning her swiftly, and she wanted to curl up in a tiny ball of shame and misery.

"This had better be damned good!" he snarled, and from her vantage point on the bed, Videl recognized the fury that had possessed him when he'd come after her.

Tien took a step back. "It's bad," he said. "Sharpener Pencille died a little over a week ago. Bad enough, considering, but apparently his lady wife has felt the public disgrace to be a little more than she wishes, and she's been fabricating a story wherein you figure mightily as a villain."

Videl sat up, reaching to pull her clothes back around her, when she realized with shock that they were still decently fastened. She'd only felt naked in his arms.

"Gohan Son a villain?" she said, managing to make her voice light and mocking. "Who could ever believe such a thing?"

Gohan spared her a glance. "You recover quickly, Miss," he murmured, and she wondered if she regretted her rashness.

"She's saying you raped her," Tien continued, undaunted. "And that instead of fighting a fair duel, you killed her husband with a Ki blast."

"I've never raped a female in my life," Gohan drawled, unmoved by this catalogue of his crimes. "Yet." He spared a meaningful glance at Videl as she slid off the bed and moved over to the fire. "You and I both know the truth of my encounter with Pencille, not to mention our seconds. I don't suppose anyone has bothered to speak in my defense?"

"Not that I'm aware of. They're after you, and that's a fact. Word's been put out, and the local magistrate is just waiting for a chance to make himself a hero. And that's not all."

Gohan sighed. "It was too much to hope for."

"Her mistress is after you." Tien gestured in Videl's direction.

"Bulma?" Videl said, horrified.

"I don't believe you," Gohan said. "Bulma would hardly go haring off after a servant. But than, Miss is more than a servant, isn't she? Still, I can't imagine Dr Brief would sit still for that."

"I doubt her father knows. She's not alone. She's travelling with the Saiyan Prince, and they're probably less than a day away from us."

"Kami help us," Gohan said faintly, reaching for the bottle of brandy. Videl watched as he tipped a generous portion down his throat. "How did you find this out?"

"Apparently the Prince's valet sent word ahead to bespeak rooms at the inn. And the fate of Sharpener Pencille and the future of his wife is the latest gossip. If we fly out of this place, the Prince is likely to detect our Ki. I've taken the liberty of seeing to transport."

"I knew I could count on you," Gohan said, moving toward the fire. Videl scuttled back, out of his reach, and his reaction was to shoot her a wry, knowing smile. "What have you got?"

"Two ships, leaving quite far from here. One leaves for Satan City, with rather decent accommodations. The second leaves for Bridgetown. That one's an older ship, a harder crossing, and why you should wish to go to Bridgetown? I bespoke passage on the ship leaving for Satan City."

"For the three of us, I trust?" Gohan said in a silken voice.

"Yes."

Tien's word of assent was drowned out by Videl's cry of horror. "No!" she cried.

Gohan glanced at her. "You don't like ocean voyages, Miss? Don't worry, if you suffer from sea sickness, I'll hold your hair."

"I will not go to Satan City."

"I fail to see why it should make any difference to you."

"I can't," she said, hearing the desperation in her voice and hating it. "Please. Anything is preferable to Satan City."

Videl didn't miss the curious look that both Gohan and Tien shot her. "Please, Miss? Do I hear you begging? You've threatened, you've asked, but I haven't hear you beg yet," he said softly. "Let me savour the experience."

"The ship leaving for Satan City is a better choice," Tien said in a neutral voice. "She's newer, the route's more direct, and she leaves a day earlier. That gives you one less day to risk getting caught by those who are after your blood."

Gohan glanced at her, almost casually. She'd given him incontestable power over her, and there was no way she could pretend otherwise. Now that he knew what most terrified her, he would have his revenge, at his leisure, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"We'll take the later ship," Gohan said, turning away. He was in no particular hurry to humble her, now that he had the key to her greatest fears. These things were better savoured. "I've been longing to see Bridgetown."

Videl felt weak with relief. All she could do was shake her head as she turned to stare down at the soup. Her eyes were hot, stinging, and she knew it had to be because of the steam.

"As you wish," Tien said. "If I were you, I wouldn't plan on spending any more time here. People know you own this place; it's the logical spot to look for you if someone has a mind to find you."

"Obviously Prince Vegeta does," Gohan drawled. "Although it's difficult to imagine him bestirring himself to do anything quite so energetic. He must be in love with Bulma." His face darkened for a moment. "Or is he in love with you, my little chef? Has Vegeta been trifling belowstairs?"

"Don't be disgusting," she roused herself to say, anger burning away that strange, achy feeling.

Gohan's smirk was faint and dangerous. "I wouldn't blame him. But for everyone's sake, I agree with Tien. As soon as we eat Miss' no-doubt delectable dinner, we'll get back on the road again. I find I'm not in the mood to kill just yet, and if Vegeta hasn't changed since I knew him in university, I imagine he won't take no for an answer. Besides, I don't wish to risk losing my prize."

"It'll take us the better part of a day to reach the ships as it is," Tien agreed. "That carriage doesn't have the speed of a single horse."

"Don't look so distraught," Gohan said, his long fingers lightly caressing Videl's smooth cheek before she jerked away. "We'll find a bed soon enough."

She'd been granted a reprieve. Somewhere between this deserted place and boarding the ship for Bridgetown, she'd find a way to escape. All she had to do was slip away and hide, waiting for Bulma to arrive. If she could hide from all the marauding evil in Satan City, she could hide from one determined Saiyan, even one who knew her far too well.

She might almost have thought he'd taken pity on her when he'd informed Tien they'd take the ship to Bridgetown. She shouldn't have betrayed her panic. He could go to Satan City if he wished, because there was no chance in hell she'd be on that ship. Even if he managed to drag her on board, she wouldn't last long enough to reach Satan City.

She would never set foot on that soil again. She had sworn it, a fierce promise to herself that overruled everything, including her vow to avenge herself.

But it had simply been a quixotic gesture on Gohan's part. Her fear of Satan City would only have increased his determination to take her there. Why did she keep forgetting he was the enemy, the agent of her past tragedies, the instrument of her destruction?

Kami help her, why had she kissed him back?

* * *

Prince Vegeta was awfully smug. The plan to incapacitate Eighteen amused him greatly.

She didn't trust him around her helpless little lamb. Not that Bulma was the slightest bit helpless; in the three days on the road, he'd come to the conclusion that she was far more capable and determined than he had ever guessed.

But Eighteen knew her livelihood depended on Bulma being both on the shelf and biddable, and she was doing her best to ensure that unhappy state continued, up to and including sharing Bulma's bed when there was absolutely no need of it.

He should be flattered that Eighteen considered him enough of a dishonourable, marauding male that he might breach the fastness of Bulma's virginal bedchamber, but instead he was profoundly irritated. Who did she think he was, Gohan Son? Although often bad-tempered, Prince Vegeta had never done a shabby, dishonourable thing in his life.

Until today.

"Where's Eighteen?" Bulma asked as he climbed up into the carriage late that morning.

Vegeta schooled his features in a look of mild concern. "Gone," he said succinctly, thinking of the woman he'd left locked upstairs, pounding on the door of the bedchamber and shrieking like a harpy.

"Don't be ridiculous, Vegeta," Bulma said in a comfortable voice. "I just saw her."

"I informed her that I would tell you the news." He kept his voice somewhat solemn, wondering at his sudden acting ability. "She's had word that her brother is deathly ill."

"Brother? Eighteen's never mentioned a brother. I thought she was an only child."

"Half-brother," Vegeta said promptly. "I believe his name is Seventeen…"

"But she never mentioned-"

"On the wrong side of the blanket," he continued, the tale growing more colourful. "They've been estranged, due to her mother's moral outrage over the entire affair, but now her brother may be on his deathbed, and Eighteen has no choice but to rush to his side. I left her with wherewithal for a private coach, and Nappa will accompany her."

"This is unbelievable!" Bulma said.

Vegeta grunted. "Tragic."

"And you left your valet behind as well?"

"Nappa insisted. It grieved Eighteen terribly to abandon you in your hour of need, but blood is thicker than water and all that. And it was a matter of life and death." He managed to look somewhat solemn.

Bulma shook her head. "Unbelievable," she murmured again. "At least she decided she could trust you."

Vegeta wasn't sure how to take that, but since the coachman had already started on the final leg of the journey toward Parsley City, he was prepared to investigate. "Was there every any question?"

"Not in my mind, of course," Bulma said with artless candour. She was wearing a gown of a not-too-flattering shade of yellow, and Eighteen had contrived to dress her hair in a sever knot before Nappa had waylaid her. She still managed to look undeniably luscious. "I know as well as you do that my reputation stands in no danger from you," she continued, unaware of the lustful direction his thoughts were taking.

"What do you mean?" He wondered how tightly she was laced under that too-fussy dress. He wondered what she'd look like in something simpler, with flowing lines to complement her wonderfully voluptuous figure. He wondered what she'd look like in absolutely nothing at all.

"No one would ever think you might do something dishonourable. Why, you're like a brother to me."

Vegeta simply stared at her, outrage rendering him momentarily silent. "A brother?" he said finally.

Bulma smiled prettily. "I don't think it's in your nature even to contemplate doing something less than honourable. You simply don't have it in you to be a rake."

Every male secretly considered himself something of a rake. At hearing his pretensions dashed so rudely by his intended mate, Vegeta felt a surge of quite dishonourable intent burgeon within him. "I'm not Gohan Son, that's for certain," he said, fuming.

Bulma laughed. "You certainly aren't! That's what I've always liked about you, Vegeta, you're so comfortable to be around. To me, at least. We don't need to stand on ceremony with each other. Whereas Gohan is decidedly… unsettling."

Vegeta ground his teeth. He wanted to be the one to unsettle her. As she was unsettling him. "Maybe I should cultivate some of Gohan's eccentricities. I wouldn't want to be considered impossibly staid and predictable." He waited for her to protest.

"Comfortably staid and predictable," Bulma said with a soft laugh that grated on his nerves. "I confess, I'm not sorry Eighteen had to go to her brother, though of course I regret the reason."

This was slightly more promising. "Why aren't you sorry?"

"She'd grown ridiculously overprotective. On the one hand, I sympathize. She knows that to ensure her future, she needs to keep me properly dependent on her. She kept warning me about you. I suppose she was afraid you were male enough to let your base nature overcome you and offer me an insult. Isn't that the most ludicrous think you've ever heard?"

"Ludicrous," Vegeta growled.

"She's not been around men much, of course, and she assumes they're all ravening beasts who only need to look at a female to be consumed by animal intent. I tried to explain to her that you were perfectly harmless, but she wouldn't listen."

"Perfectly harmless," Vegeta echoed. Was his eye twitching?

Bulma's beautiful forehead creased in sudden dismay. "Are you feeling all right, Vegeta? You sound a little… disturbed."

Deranged, he thought, keeping his face blank. Ravening, lustful, infuriated, and frustrated. He wondered what his Bulma would do if he grabbed her and proceeded to demonstrate just how far from harmless he actually was.

"I must confess, Bulma, that even the most phlegmatic of males don't like to consider themselves staid, predictable and perfectly harmless," he drawled, smirking slightly.

She snuggled deeper into the seat, and the smile she shot him was absolutely enchanting. "But Vegeta, surely you wouldn't want me to harbour any romantic feelings for you? Think how inconvenient they would be."

He thought about it. Thought about how he'd felt the same thing, a few short days ago. He'd wanted an intelligent wife, one who came to the marriage bed with a compliant nature and no high-flown, emotional demands.

And now, perversely, he wanted demands. He wanted Bulma to blush and tremble. He wanted that single-minded adoration he'd taken for granted when she was younger. To hell with comfort.

He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Definitely inconvenient," he agreed lazily. "Given our most unconventional circumstances."

"And you are the most conventional of males."

That was almost the last straw. He was about to surge off the seat and grab her when his hapless coachman drove over one of the potholes that littered the highways, nearly tossing him off-balance, back onto his own seat. By the time he finished his muttered cursing, he had his temper back under a semblance of control.

"Completely conventional," he agreed, thinking of the waylaid Miss Eighteen. He decided to change the subject before he throttled her. "We're drawing near the border," he said. "If our luck holds, we should catch up with them by tonight. You'll become each other's chaperons, and there won't be any hint of impropriety."

"I've told you…"

"Please don't tell me again," he said roughly. "It unmans me to hear how harmless I am. Allow me some illusions. We'll drive straight to Gohan's hunting lodge, fetch your chef, and drive on to a small inn a few miles distant where I've already had Nappa bespoken rooms. It will be a long day, but it will be worth it in the end."

"What if he won't let her come?" Bulma asked in a quiet voice.

"What if she doesn't wish to come?" he countered.

"I told you, she hates men."

"Gohan can be very persuasive. In the five days they've been gone, he might have taught her to like them very much indeed."

"I can't imagine it," Bulma said frankly.

Vegeta smirked then, suddenly feeling more self-assured. It was amazing what Bulma's devastating candour could do to his masculine vanity. He would derive great pleasure in dispelling her notion that he was harmless. And in teaching her just how beguiling physical love could be.

"We'll deal with that problem when it arises," he said instead. "I'm not about to let Gohan Son hold an unwilling female prisoner. Besides, he clearly doesn't know that he's being sought for killing Sharpener Pencille. I imagine once he discovers that fact, he'll be a great deal more interested in reaching the continent than in matters of the flesh."

"I hope so," Bulma said doubtfully. "I don't want you hurt, Vegeta."

Vegeta ground his teeth. "I can acquit myself well enough in a duel, Bulma."

"But Gohan can be quite ruthless."

Vegeta watched the delectable rise and fall of her breasts beneath the bright yellow dress.

"So," he said blandly, "can I."

* * *

Please do let me know what you think!

-Rhen-chan


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